Das Rheingold--Version A and Version B

Sometimes I read these things and wonder a) if critic A and critic B went to the same performance, and if so, b) how two very knowledgeable people who are for the most part, fair reviewers, could have such drastically different appraisals of the same performance.

Critic A gushes about the performance, and writes a lovely review, while critic B doesn't write a scathing review, but doesn't seem convinced.

My never-ending dilemmas

Another dilemma, though perhaps the kind that shows how spoiled we are in this area:

Go listen to an amazing pianist and great ensemble
or
Listen to some of the best string quartet repertoire written?

Make a decision based on the ensemble/soloist
or
repertoire?

Yuja Wang and Academy of St. Martin in the Fields
or
Bartok 4, Haydn Op. 76 and Mendelssohn Op. 13?

I've gushed about Yuja Wang in the past. She's coming again to the Bay Area, to perform Mozart and Mendelssohn w/ the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields. Stuff I like.

Normally it would be a no-brainer to get these tickets.

But then there is this performance of Bartok #4, Haydn Op. 76 #5 and Mendelssohn Op. 13 performed by a youngish string quartet from Australia that just won the ninth Banff International String Quartet Competition. The TinAlley String Quartet is playing in a venue with amazing string quartet acoustics (or so my friend says. I've actually never been to the Petit Trianon, but have been meaning to, because I've heard wonderful things about the acoustics.). I am not familiar with the group, but they look young and hip-ish on their website. Not that this should be a decision factor, (though I wish they had some recordings and more information on their website) but I like the idea of supporting a young, aspiring group. (I hope that doesn't sound patronizing, but they really are young--according to this website, their average age was 24 in 2006, which makes them 26 years old! Though when such young, aspiring groups perform, do they get any or part of the proceeds?)

Right now, as much as I would grab any opportunity to hear Yuja Wang perform live, I'm leaning towards going to hear the young, hip Aussie string quartet perform Bartok, Haydn, and Mendelssohn.

Whereas I would probably get nosebleed seats for $50 at the SF Symphony Hall (Yuja Wang concert), at the Petit Trianon, I could probably get close by seats for $40ish. The space is much more intimate.

Ah, decisions, decisions, decisions. But I want opinions, opionions, opinions (even if I ultimately might not listen to them. . .).

Beethoven's Eroica--Pretty and Pleasant?

When I first saw the SF Symphony’s description of Beethoven’s “Eroica” Symphony as “pretty/pleasant” a là their new concierge service, I thought, “wth!?!??!”

But after listening to their performance of it last night, I think I now understand. This is exactly how they played it: the Eroica, as played by the SF Symphony last night, was beautiful, impassioned—and pleasant.

I wonder if I let Leonard Bernstein and Alex Ross influence my expectations for the live version too much. . ..

Last night, I went to go hear the SF Symphony with Peanut Butter. I was particularly excited about going to hear Gil Shaham live, but we were also both really looking forward to a live performance of the Eroica.

Eroica is one of these symphonies I never tire listening to; for the past few months, I have been courting this symphony, attempting to better understand it.

It is unbelievable that I had never heard it live before last night.

* * * *

Sometime late last fall, perhaps as part of my quest to better understand Mahler, I decided that I first needed to better understand Beethoven’s symphonies. Why Beethoven, I don’t remember, except that our director made a connection between the two composers. Plus Beethoven’s symphonies were more familiar. It’s been on one of my big “lifetime” to-do lists, along with understanding Mahler before I’m 70.

It was also around this time that one of my olderish-professor type friends told me about a Beethoven course he took in college in which the professor broke down each of Beethoven’s symphonies into parts and analyzed the structure. I was envious. My college offered no such course, so I was left to my own devices to absorb the greatness that is Beethoven.

Thus, for various reasons, I decided to try to better “understand” Beethoven’s symphonies. It seemed natural to start with the Eroica, since it is a landmark symphony that is often referred to as the symphony that marked the beginning of the Romantic Era.

* * * *

The Eroica is a mind-boggling symphony. It’s one of these symphonies that humbles me every time I listen to it. Here is someone who wrote a symphony so masterful and complex that I can but barely understand it with my tiny brain. I can but barely follow a score and keep track of everything. (Ok I can’t.) Any contribution I might ever make in my lifetime just pales—pales­—compared to just one output (of which he had many) from this composer. That anyone could write something like this is already mind-boggling. But then to think that he wrote this when he was deaf!

* * * *

Unfortunately, being awestruck with its greatness doesn’t help me understand this symphony. I can listen to it, appreciate its greatness and tell you how it’s different from Haydn/Mozart’s symphonies, as well as tell you about the intense E-flat major chords—even tell you a little about how the melody progresses—but then my musical limitations take over. I couldn’t tell you, for example, the specifics of what makes this such a landmark symphony.

So I started borrowing different recordings and comparing them to the one I have. I looked for stuff online that might help me parse this symphony and explain the details of its structure.

Then sometime in January, these SF Symphony tickets went on sale as part of a special promo. Gil Shaham and the Beethoven Eroica live for $25???? Omg. I grabbed those tickets.

Another serendipitous occurrence: discovering Alex Ross’s first blog posting, where he talks about the Eroica at length. Shortly after I purchased those tickets, I checked Alex Ross’s blog and came across this posting, in which he links back to his first post, which I had never read before. Of course, it was conveniently meant to be discovered while I was in the middle of “studying” the Eroica.

Alex Ross’s early blog posting was a wonderful find. He infuses so much personal significance into the Eroica. He extols the virtues of the Bernstein lectures and talks about how these lectures inspired him to buy a score of this symphony.

I too, bought and listened to the Bernstein lecture on how this symphony was constructed. I borrowed the score from the library and listened, while trying to follow along. Sometimes, I just listened to see if I now listened with a different ear. I listened to different versions and compared it to my Szell (Cleveland Symphony) version.

Through all of these various ways—discovering Alex Ross’s first post; listening to the Bernstein lecture; reading various things online; and analyzing the score—I learned lots and looked forward to hearing the live version.

I also listened to it a lot. Whenever I put it on, I cranked up the volume so the opening E-flat major chords would sound like hammer blows that made me leap out of my seat. I mentally paused after the transgressive C-sharp that follows, and then perhaps because of Bernstein, I imagined struggles, conflicts, holocausts, and all those things in the next few measures.

Bernstein’s recording is quite fiery; Szell conducts his at an electrifying tempo.

But of course, none of this could possibly be as thrilling as listening to it live. Thus PB and I went to the SF Symphony performance, ready to be knocked out of our seats and be riveted by the live version. I fully expected to be so enthralled that even before the program started, I anticipated giving them a standing ovation.

* * * *

During the first half, Gil Shaham played a Schuman concerto. No, not Robert Schumann, to my surprise, but another Schuman, who according to the program notes, didn’t even discover classical music until 20. The piece was a pleasant surprise (since I was expecting Robert Schumann). I was entranced by Shaham’s lyrical playing and enjoyed most of this jazzy concerto. Shaham has a very sensitive playing style that I like very much. (3/12: Thanks to the person who pointed out my egregious error. Robert Schumann now has 2 n's in his last name. People who can't spell Schumann should also belong to category B. (See next post for the reference.))

So now we get to the moment we were waiting for. I was so fraught with anticipation that I held my breath as I waited for MTT to give the first downbeat so the E-flat major chords can pummel me out of my seat.

The chords came and went—as did the transgressive C-sharp—so quickly, that by the time it registered that I wasn’t blasted out of my seat or stabbed by intrusive chords, the music had progressed to the part where the players were handing off the theme back and forth to each other, politely, rather than with a sense of urgency.

The playing was beautiful, but I was looking for the stab and wrench that Bernstein talks about. Where was the holocaust, famine, and struggle? The turmoil and the tug-o-war between parts that Bernstein talks about? Or the intrusive otherness?

These were all missing. The ensemble-playing was excellent, but excellence wasn’t what I sought in the music last night.

Once I got over my shock over the unshocking-ness of the opening E-flat major chords and the C-sharp, I did enjoy the rest of the program.

I liked the heart-on-the-sleeve nature of the Marcia Funebre, but the real surprise was the third movement, which I normally find least exciting. In the Szell recording, this is just ho-hum. I don’t like the horn and oboe-playing at all, which kills the movement for me. The Bernstein version is a bit better, with more contrasts, but again, still not my favorite movement. By contrast, SF Symphony’s version was electrifying and full of the tension needed to make this movement ring. In particular, I loved the really quiet repeated low notes that the viola passes on to the string bases and the cellos in this movement. The cellos and the bases played this with such bounce and at such a low volume, that you could barely hear them. (In fact, it was so low, I couldn’t tell whether the bases or cellos or both were playing the B-flat.) Ohhhh, it was lovely. It was like witnessing a very private heated conversation between the violas and bases/cellos. If they had just played this section over and over again the entire evening, I would’ve enjoyed it. It provided a wonderful contrast to the loud melody, which really made this movement work. The oboe and flute ensemble was very tight, too.

Is it silly to say that these repeated B-flats were probably my favorite part of this performance?

I am glad I finally got to hear this performance live, but the SF Symphony version wasn’t riveting or transgressive enough for me.

However, clearly I’m wrong, since Joshua Kosman of the SF Chronicle (a reliable music critic and therefore someone who actually knows what he is talking about) said that this performance was “among the most exciting renditions of this music I've heard."

Well, this is why I could never be a reviewer.

Musical Mashed Potatoes

I’m working on a piece that currently sounds like musical mashed potatoes, if mashed potatoes could actually be represented musically.

We are supposed to memorize a piece that sounds deceivingly easy if you just sang the entire piece as is, but the version we are singing has 3 of us max on a part, singing only 1 pitch (in my case a B-flat), so that every time a B-flat comes up, I’m supposed to sing the text, which is proving to be a bit more challenging than I expected. (The rest of the time, I’m supposed to hum on my note, but all the while standing next to TWO people who are each singing a half a step above and below me, which means that I also don’t want to breathe, because that means a stoppage in sound, and the increased likelihood of getting thrown off by the mesh of pitches on either side of you.)

It’s hard to think that far ahead and be like, "oh, my b-flat is coming up." and manage to come in exactly on time and with the proper amount of stress, b/c the few times I do remember to come in on time, I'm so eager to show off that "Oh oh oh, I actually remembered that I'm supposed to come in on the word 'tops' of 'rooftops'!" that I end up stressing the word we come in on, which is invariably an unimportant and unstressed word like "a" or worse yet, a non-stressed syllable, like the “on” in upon. It's appropriately called "Falling Rain" and once we get the musical acrobatics figured out, it should sound like cascading raindrops.

But at the moment. . . please pass me the gravy.

My compulsive Bach-buying disorder

Damnit. Damnit. I found another version of Bach’s Chaconne played so beautifully that I need to get it.

Here I thought that I already know my favorite version of Bach’s Partitas and Sonatas and was set with my Menuhin version. Over the past few years, I’ve listened to several recordings and own a few, but I keep coming back to Yehudi Menuhin’s 1934 version recorded when he was but a teen. Yes, it has more intonation issues than his later recording and other versions played by Perlman and many others, and Kremer and Hahn play it beautifully and with more technical verve, but flaws and all, the Menuhin recording was my first “Chaconne love”, and I still find it powerful enough to move me to tears. Even the Szeryng version, which is quite good, doesn’t move me quite as much as Menuhin’s.

Unlike modern recordings, you can tell that this recording wasn’t recorded in a studio with fancy acoustics or high tech recording equipment, so the violin doesn’t ring as much as later recordings by Perlman, Hahn, et. al. nor does his violin have that vibrant zing to its tone. But the unmediated sound sounds so honest and refreshing; the tone is warmer and much more intimate.

Thus, despite the razzle dazzle of newer, more polished versions—some of which I own, I’ve been faithful to this one for the past ten years or so and have not been tempted to buy any more beyond the ones I already own.

Until today, that is.

Today, I heard a version played by Grumiaux (on my favorite nonclassical radio station, no less.) that sounded so beautiful that I actually stopped what I was doing for 15 minutes to finish listening to it and give it my undivided attention. It’s very different from Menuhin's, but alluring and sensual in its own way.

A few years ago, I swore off buying any more Bach unaccompanied violin stuff until I had a less lopsided collection (it’s currently very “B”-heavy), but darn it. I think I might need to break my Bach-fast and get a recording of the Grumiaux.

Because you know, it's not like the 3? 4? I already own are enough.

SF Symphony- my modest request #2

While we're on the topic of unsolicited suggestions to make your website better, request number two is this: can you please make your search function useful? Right now, it is utterly beyond useless. For example, I want to find out if you've ever performed Janacek's Glagolitic Mass. I type in Glagolitic Mass in your search box, but yield nothing, because it wasn't in this season. It turns out you did perform this great piece-- on 8 Jan. 2005. But I couldn't find this info anywhere on your website.

Instead, where did I find this information? I had to go to San Francisco Classical Voice and do a search there, which yielded this review by Lisa Hirsch. In fact, every time I want to look up your past performance repertoire info, I go to SFCV. You might find nothing wrong with the fact that I have to go to an external website to do a search on your past repertoire, but I really should be able to do this search on your website.

Or if you are going to outsource this and let SFCV be your de facto external search engine, perhaps you should pay them commission for this service. I'm sure can use the extra funds. They'd get quite a hefty sum of cash, just from my use of their search engine to search for your past concert program info.

Perhaps this info is all there and staring at me from an obvious location and I'm just being a big moron. But I just clicked though all of your tabs and couldn't find this info anywhere. (As of 29 Feb 2008, that is. I hope this info will be obsolete some day, though.)

So instead of a not-so-helpful fancy concierge service replete with fancy flash, how about a low-tech searchable archive of your past repertoire somewhere first?

Yuja Wang Recital

Well, my friend who decided to pass on this recital because “I’m not a fan of any of these composers” missed out big time. I just got back from Yuja Wang’s recital at Herbst Theatre. I left the theatre in complete awe of her nimble fingers and technical prowess, not to mention the fact that she played quite a challenging program entirely from memory.

During the first half, she played two etudes by Ligeti and the B-minor sonata by Franz Liszt. The Liszt piece is quite long and complicated; I was quite overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the piece—its multiple themes, the dynamic ranges, etc. I won’t bother to try and analyze it since I couldn’t possibly do this piece justice with my limited music knowledge. I mean, take a look at the score.

Wang’s deft fingers literally flew from one end of the keyboard to the other.

I sat transfixed for most of it, but found the piece a challenge to listen to; my mind kept wandering and was unable to keep up with the tempo of the piece, just because the themes kept hurling at me full-speed, before I had the chance to digest and process the previous theme. This is one of these pieces that I will probably have to hear a dozen more times before I “get” it. The program notes didn't do justice to the complexity of the piece.

The second half, with sonatas by Bartok and Scriabin and Ravel’s La Valse, was also played with technical perfection as was the first half, but much easier for me to process, and thus, for me, the better of the two halves. For example, while I can only remember broad themes from Liszt’s sonata, I have distinct memories of passages and notes from the second half. If I sat through most of the first half in a trance mesmerized by Wang’s finger calisthenics, in the second half, I had a more visceral reaction to the music—similar to the reaction I had when I listened to a Gilels recording of Beethoven’s Hammerklavier sonata. (More on this later.) Not to sound clichéd, but when she played the delicate passages of the Scriabin Sonata #2, my heart felt like it was being tugged by an invisible string connected to the piano. The best metaphor I can give to describe how delicate those notes sounded is to say that it sounded like a piece of thin diaphanous fine-gauge silk floating in the wind and catching the sun’s rays and sparkling here and there like jewels at key moments. Or maybe that faint summer breeze that caresses your arm for a fleeting moment on an otherwise balmy day. In the quietest passages, she played the notes so delicately, yet smoothly, that it did not sound at all like distinct keys being struck on a piano, but rather, more like the seamless sound of a harp. The notes had an ethereal quality to them. Sound seemed to emanate not from the keys but seemed to hover slightly above her fingers, similar to that faint summer breeze hovering over your arm.

But how to possibly describe this using only words? By labeling it ___ (delicate, sensitive, ethereal etc.), I’m already giving it more substance than its delicate form warrants.

At one point, (probably to the annoyance of the people sitting in front of me,) I couldn’t help but exclaim (in a whisper), “wow. . .” I think I might’ve forgotten to breathe several times. Several excerpts from La Valse gave me goose bumps.

***************

While I hung on the edge of my seat—entranced, mesmerized, in awe, and at times, forgetting to breathe, the guy (whom I originally sat next to, but then moved away from, b/c his snoring was driving me nuts) who sat in the row behind me slept through most of the first half as well as part of the second half. I thought I was a “tolerant” audience member, but I think I am more of an audience nazi than I give myself credit for. I now have a new “least favorite audience annoyance”: light snoring/heavy breathing that lasts the duration of the entire concert. I’ll take coughing and rustling of candy wrappers over this any day. Not only did this man reek of cigarette smoke, but I could hear his heavy breathing throughout the entire program. His wife, who sat next to him, did not once nudge him or attempt to rectify this transgressive behavior. (Didn’t she find the ostinato of his heavy breathing utterly aggravating?!?!?!?) I really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt (maybe he had a hellish night and didn’t sleep?), but the more I tried to ignore him, the more my mind kept focusing on his audible-from-10-seats-away heavy breathing.

I certainly didn’t let the heavily breathing man ruin the concert for me, but I couldn’t help but wonder why he bothered staying for the second half if the first half clearly bored him to sleep.

Here are some other reviews by people who are clearly more versed in the repertoire than I am:

One not as gushy as mine in San Francisco Classical Voice
Another review which comments on her post-performance mannerisms, also in San Francisco Classical Voice
and a raving one by Joshua Kosman.

Mozart, bastardized

Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit. I should be working instead of posting, but I'm going to take 60 seconds to complain about a coworker whose office is 2 doors down, who has her cellphone ring tone set to Mozart's piano sonata #--oh, I don't know the exact number, but I'm tearing my hair out listening to it. I can't decide whether it's worse than hearing one movement of Vivaldi on a radio station, but it is beyond annoying as heck.

Why the heck do people think this is acceptable? At work? I can work through most background noises (and I certainly get a lot), but 30 seconds of bastardized Mozart on something that doesn't sound like a real piano makes me want to walk over there and remove the battery or accidentally break it.

How about the vibrator mode? Or a quieter ring tone? Or if you must make musical references, 2 E-flat major chords? (just 2, or else the effect/reference is lost. And on volume 2 instead of 10.) I'd even prefer a ring tone that sounds like, omg, how un-novel and orthodox--a phone!

Mozart's piano sonata was meant to be played on a piano, people. If he wanted his damn sonata played on a cell phone, he would've called it the ringtone sonata. (Ok, yes, I know cellphones didn't exist during his time.)

Crying at a concert, but not because the music was moving

My friend went to go see the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra perform the Mahler 5th. As Murphy's law would have it, she suddenly had this incredible need to cough during one of the hushed movements. Not wanting to offend other concertgoers who are clearly not in the know about how it used to be ok to cough, talk, etc. during performances, she attempted to suppress her cough by covering her mouth with a wad of tissue. This caused her to have some difficulty breathing, which in turn triggered a lachrymal response. Tears overfloweth and wouldn't stop for the rest of the performance.

She sat close enough to the orchestra (4th row) that several violinists noticed her. One of them kept making eye contact with her and smiled at her approvingly when the piece finally ended.

An audience member was so moved by her gushing tears that he went up to her after the concert and told her that she must have such an honest heart to have such a reaction to the music. "I was so moved by your open emotions," he said to her.

"Ah, if only they knew. . .."

Anguished Shostakovich

Shostakovich has a subversive sense of humor that I can relate to. I find myself being very subversive at my workplace. "Ebullient" is code for "Republican" or "right wing". VIP dignitaries are given various epithets, like Senegalese lepidopterists. Thus, if I say "this damn Senegalese lepidopterist is being quite ebullient", many people think I'm talking nonsense.

Last night, I went to go hear the Stanford Symphony Orchestra play an all-Shostakovich program. Despite all of the discussions flying back and forth about whether Shostakovich's music is shallow, boring, etc. and all of the Shostakovich-bashing that is taking place on one of my discussion boards, I found his works quite moving and definitely full of emotion/angst.

The program consisted of Prelude for Strings, and an arrangement of the String Quartet #8, (the program called it Chamber Symphony), and the Cello Concerto #1. The first one, I didn't have much of an impression of.

The second one was quite moving. I was a bit distracted by what seemed like a lack of practice; in some passages, there were not-quite unisons, uncoordinated bows, and perfunctory playing, despite the angst that this piece attempts to convey. It is a song dedicated to "victims of fascism and war", but as the program notes indicate, I found the piece much more introspective and sinister. Shostakovich's conflicted feelings really came out in the music.

However, the real highlight of the evening was the Cello Concerto. What a stunning performance. The cellist from the St. Lawrence String Quartet played the solo parts. I thought that between the excellent program notes, the pre-concert lecture that gave us lots of background on this piece, and the interpretations of this piece by the conductor, the soloist and the orchestra, all of that combined made for an excellent concert-going experience. I have to admit, I've only heard limited amounts of Shostakovich (mostly piano) live, as well as hearing recordings of his symphonies, but I was never really into his music much. It certainly never had me hanging off the edge of my seat as this cello concerto performance did. I guess there is nothing quite like experiencing it live.

The contrast between the beautiful lyrical sections and the jarring ones full of angst were striking.

The cellist played with such passion. Ah, such passion and skill! I could see the angst in his face. In several sections, the cellist played with his fingers practically at the edge of the fingerboard. The best way I can describe the sound of such high registers is that it sounded like a more ominous, deeper version of a violin. It's the kind of sound that (literally) seeps into the marrow of your bones and makes you shudder.

The program notes mentioned that for both the Chamber Symphony and the Cello Concerto, Shostakovich inserted excerpts from pieces that Stalin either hated (the Symphony) or loved (Cello Concerto). He also salutes Prokofiev in the cello concerto, and uses a variation of his signature (DSCH turns into D-E flat-C-B natural) as a recurring motif in his pieces.

As I listened, I imagined what it was like to have to write music under a repressive regime and necessitate this sort of subversive political referencing in music. I mean, how would these pieces have sounded different if he weren't making some sort of anti-Stalin statement? Would the pieces have sounded less anguished?

The concert made me appreciate Shostakovich's wry sense of humor.

Hoity toity tastes in music but can't write basic English?

Dear Regular Poster in Pretentious Classical Music Elitists,

First, let me issue a disclaimer and say that perhaps I shouldn't be one to cast stones. . . but if you have very sophisticated tastes in music, far beyond my plebeian levels of appreciation, and make very good recommendations about recordings, etc., it would be far more impressive if you could convey this using proper grammar.

It is quite disappointing to listen to (er, read) you carry on intelligently about such-and-such a piece or about 12-tone-serialism, and notice that you just explained a difficult concept using run-on sentences and the wrong form of "its" and you're not British. (The Brits also have the same usage rules for its and it's as we do, but I believe run-on sentences are legit in their culture? If not, the Harry Potter books need some serious editing.)

I am usually opposed to cutting out music/art education to beef up on basic skills education, but when you extol the virtues of Louis Andriessen and Brian Ferneyhough, but cannot properly distinguish between than and then, or are averse to using a period between two independent clauses, I start to second guess my opinions about the tantamount importance of music education. Maybe we do need to confiscate that oboe until you can spell basic words. . ..

Cut you some slack, b/c you are a musician, engineer who plays music on the side, etc. and writing is not your forté? Well, I would, except that my musician friends (amateur, professional, etc.) can all write quite well--in fact, many of them better than people who write for a living. So I now have this unfortunate expectation and equate high music literacy with high literacy.

Besides, if you are going to talk about pretentious elitist subjects, you need to be pretentious and elitist about your writing, too, or else people (yours truly included) may not take you as seriously.

Pretentious vs. Ordinary

A few posts back, I posted about wanting a Chowhound version of classical music. Well, it's not quite Chowhound, but after looking through the myriad of classical music groups on Facebook (yes, I'm probably too old to be on Facebook. But then, I'm probably too old to be blogging too? Except that now everyone of all ages seems to be blogging. Even at the old, stodgy place where I work, where the average age is probably more than twice my age, people are blogging away like a bunch of gen-y-ers.) , I think I found a discussion group that I like.

Many of the discussion threads for this group seem to be over my head (as in, I don't recognize half of the people they are talking about), but the discussions seem to be lively, mostly interesting, and quite ane (yes, I know that's not a word, but it should be.) compared to some of the discussions on other more popular classical music groups. Even if I have no opinion on the "Kurtag vs. Ligeti" debate, I have already gotten a lot of good recommendations to add to my CD collection from trolling around on their discussion boards.

The only problem is that the group is called "Pretentious Classical Music Elitists", which brings up a question/issue.

I agree with the basic premise of the group, which eschews the notion of classical music as "soothing, relaxing" (mind-numbing, valium. . .), etc. and is against anything that dumbs down classical music. We are also on the same page with regard to radio stations that dumb down classical music to the masses.

However, their response to these problems is kind of lame.

I mean, does one have to be "pretentious" or "elitist" to properly appreciate classical music? What about those of us who don't know enough about classical music to be pretentious or elitist, but still demand a decent radio station that doesn't butcher great orchestral symphonies or dumb down this genre in general?

This is such a Manichean, either/or world-view of classical music. Either you like Pachelbel's Canon and listen to classical music to relax, or you are elitist and pretentious?

Maybe it's because of such attitudes that people are scared off from the likes of Elliott Carter or a Bruchner symphony (this is a reference to a specific blog entry, which I won't bother linking to, b/c it has restricted access, but I didn't want people to think I just pull my references out of thin air. . .:-P)

Such dichotomies don't quite help make classical music (and I mean stuff beyond just one movement of the ubiquitous Four Seasons, Pachelbel's Canon, etc.) more accessible to a wider audience.

It doesn't fill seats of concert halls or bring much-needed $ to performing arts groups that are attempting to do their part in introducing audiences to a wider and more interesting repertoire of classical music.

We have enough Manicheanism in the current administration; please don't bring such reductionistic thinking into the world of classical music, too.

Music 2.0 Lite

In this area--a mecca of all forms of culture, it's bad enough that we don't have a high-caliber newspaper that rivals the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal. But in an area where people are pretty knowledgeable about classical music and the level of music appreciation is high (though not high enough to appreciate the edgy-modern kind of music that our choir performs), we have one classical music station. It therefore has a monopoly on classical music broadcasting, which is a shame, because I wonder if some competition might enliven the repertoire choices a bit.

I have a love-hate relationship with my local classical music station, which prides itself on being "Casual, Comfortable, and Classical." UGH. Normally, my sentiments cancel out so that the end result is closer to indifference. In fact, I don't even classify myself as being knowledgeable enough about classical music to complain about the vapid tuneful do-re-mi dumbed-down version of classical music that this radio station offers to this area, but having to listen to just the last movement of the Dvorak 8th Symphony was my last straw.

I lost it, and hence this posting to get this out of my system.

• First of all, I don't listen to this station that often, because I usually only listen to it when I'm in my car, which is not that often. Maybe 30-60 minutes a week (depending on whether I bike into work, have other places to go to) tops? So at this infrequency of listening, I should not, in a 3 month period, hear Hilary Hahn and whoever else playing the Bach Double three times. Now I love the Bach Double. I have at least 5 or 6 different recordings of it. But a) classical music is not all about Hilary Hahn playing Bach. I'm sure she plays it beautifully, but there are dozens of other people who have played the Bach Double, and some better. In the very least, all different. And more importantly, b)there are tens upon thousands of other songs that constitute classical music. If I'm listening 30 minutes a week, and in a 3 month span, I've heard Hilary Hahn's rendition of the Bach Double 2 or 3 times, you are not playing enough interesting music. And gosh darnit, if you are going to broadcast the Bach Double multiple times, how about Nigel Kennedy or Yehudi Menhuin?

• Rant number two: call me curmudgeonly or contrarian, but this whole "comfortable, casual" "island of sanity" business really does the audience a disservice. It is dumbed down classical music, version 2.0 lite. This is precisely the sort of insipid, mind-numbing version of classical music that gives classical music its bad reputation. A lot of my twenty- and thirty- (and even forty-) something friends don't like classical music. They think it's dull and unhip. It's for winding down at the end of the day, but not for challenging you.

Now again, let me reiterate that I'm no classical music cognescenti. Far from it. I'm still trying to learn to appreciate Mahler and I'm just getting into opera and there are hundreds of symphonies that I haven't heard in their entirety. But it is precisely people of my ilk (not much better than total ignoramus, but interested in learning more and unsatisfied with the offerings of our current radio station) who need to be challenged to listen to things beyond Vivaldi's 4 Seasons or Mozart's Requiem, or other things on the classical music top- 100 list that I have already either sung or played or know of.

Not that there's anything wrong with Mozart's Requiem or Vivaldi's 4 Seasons. There is a reason they are "classics". There's certainly a time and place for appreciating that.

But as Aaron Copland put it so eloquently, why is it that we expect all other art forms to challenge us, and yet, when it comes to classical music, people think we just want to hear the comfortable stuff?

The literary world does not expect Gide or Mann or T.S. Eliot to emote with the accents of Victor Hugo or Walter Scott. Why, then, should Bartok or Milhaud be expected to sing with the voice of Schumann or Tchaikovsky? When a contemporary piece seems dry and cerebral to you, when it seems to be giving off little feeling or sentiment, there is a good chance that you are not willing to live in your own epoch, musically speaking.

Before concluding, I should like to ask a question of my own. Why is it that the musical public is seemingly so reluctant to consider a musical composition as, possibly, a challenging experience? When I hear a new piece of music that I do not understand I am intrigued -- I want to make contact with it again at the first opportunity. It's a challenge -- it keeps my interest in the art of music thoroughly alive.

But sadly I've observed that my own reaction is not typical. Most people use music as a couch; they want top be pillowed on it, relaxed and consoled for the stress of daily living. But serious music was never meant to be used as a soporific. Contemporary music, especially, is created to wake you up, not put you to sleep. It is meant to stir and excite you -- it may even exhaust you. But isn't that the kind of stimulation you go to the theatre for or read a book for? Why make an exception of music?

So KDFC is another one of these stations that serves as a couch or pillow, which I guess fits with their whole "islands of sanity" marketing scheme.

• Rant number three: I love instruments and all, but their programming for the most intimate instrument of all is virtually nil or I keep missing it, because based on my infrequent listening, I'd say that their ratio of instrumental to choral pieces programmed is 20:1, to pick an arbitrary number out of a hat. (Well not really. I really rarely hear choral works or opera presented, though in their defense, I did hear that they will start or have started broadcasting opera.) They used to do some choral music on Sunday mornings and I used to listen to that, but at some point, they got rid of that or moved the time.

But again, even with the choral music, there's more to choral music than Wachet Auf. How about some Veljo Tormis? Alberto Grau? Or something that was written after we were born?

• My final point, and the whole impetus for this long, hopefully not-too-vituperative rant-- Please. Do. Not. Truncate. Great symphonies. It's bad enough that much is lost when you hear it on the radio vs. hearing it live, but when you just present one movement from a larger work, you rob it of all of its context and nuance.

This morning, on my way to work, KDFC played just the last movement of the Dvorak 8th, which granted, is showy and grandiose, and perhaps a crowd-pleaser, but imo, not the most interesting part of the piece. It's unfortunate that I've (sort of) played this piece before, because otherwise, I probably wouldn't have cared so much about KDFC just presenting the last movement.

But this is probably one of these symphonies that to fully appreciate the last movement, you need to listen to the earlier movements. Motifs repeat and come back. He ties three entirely different-sounding movements and brings closure in the last movement. How can you fully appreciate the loud buildup and release of tension in the last movement, when you haven't heard movements 1,2, and 3?

The first movement starts with a cello line that seems to indicate a sense of urgency, but then the tension is cut by a flute section that sounds somewhat naive and meandering. Actually, the first part of the first movement sounds like an exciting trek in the woods to me--with each switchback offering some kind of surprise adventure or excitement. It's got that kind of playful feel. The string part towards the end of this movement is exhilarating. (So exhilarating that I ultimately had to drop out of performing this piece. The first violin part has notes that are 7 and 8 lines above the staff!) Then you've got a(n initially) more pensive-sounding second movement with clarinet the brass in the second movement, whose tone gets more ominous? (urgent? sinister?) sounding towards the last third, before returning to an earlier motif, and ultimately, coming back to its original opening theme, albeit in a different key. However, by now, the theme seems to have taken on an entirely new meaning. After the descending scales, the opening motif sounds more majestic/triumphant to me. Which takes us to the third movement, which sounds entirely different. It sounds waltz-like with its 3/8 tempo and prominently features the strings.

But I'm digressing from my original rant and I don't really know sufficient background about this piece to be writing "program notes" for it. These are just my personal impressions. . ..

To return to my original rant of how this symphony should not be truncated thus-- the point I was trying to make here with my digression was that the final movement of the Dvorak 8th should not be played on its own. Period. I am less irritated when they do this with other pieces, but the more a radio station does this, the more it dumbs down and cheapens the value of classical music. I mean, how do you expect me to learn to appreciate an edgy, modern symphony, if I'm used to hearing only truncated versions of top 100 hits?

Would you read just the last few chapters of a book, no matter how exhilarating the content may be? Part of the exhilaration is the culmination and the journey through the earlier chapters or movements, in the case of music.

Granted, it takes time and concentration, and roughly 38 minutes of your time to appreciate the entire symphony. But wouldn't most people rather hear the full thing rather than the dumbed down "abridged" version?

Audiences: Please talk all you want

For those of us who get irritated by people who unwrap candy wrappers at the most hushed moments during performances or glare at people who talk incessantly through an entire performance or movie, it turns out that having such audience disruptions is a more authentic way to experience concerts.

According to this NYT article, during Liszt or Beethoven's time, it was normal to clap between movements or even talk during performances. In fact, according to said article (which is actually quoting a book about 19th century audiences by Kenneth Hamilton. Note to self: add to ever-growing "to read" list.), the pianist Alexander Dreyshcock "was criticized for playing 'so loud that it made it difficult for the ladies to talk'".

Two centuries later, we have an entirely different sort of audience. One that has been "reduced to subversive acts in a fascistic society" according to the same article. Fascistic society?

While people who occasionally cough during performances do not bother me so much, as a performer, I don't think expecting silence from an audience during the most intimate ppp sections in music is necessarily "fascistic".

In my case, whether audience behavior bothers me or not depends on the circumstances. I admit I'm rather inconsistent.

If a 3-year old child of one of my fellow singers happens to yell "mommy mommy mommy" during a performance, this does not bother me in the least. In fact, the last time this happened, the mommy, who stood next to me, looked mortified, but the rest of us couldn't help but smile. I even saw a smile break out from our conductor's lips.

If a 4-year old child is squirming and moving around and whispering loudly during the entire first half of a Cantabile holiday concert, more strongly than my sentiment to want to tell the child to sit still is my urge to strangle the parents who don't do anything about this distracting squirmy child.

If an old-ish gentleman walks out with his walker with much fanfare during our quiet a capella recessional. . . I am momentarily annoyed at his bad timing and will probably wonder why he couldn't have waited another 1 minute and 24 seconds to make his grand exit, but sigh and don't think much of it.

If middle or high school-aged children whisper/talk loudly amongst themselves during a production of San Jose Opera's The Crucible or a performance of Faure's Cantique du Jean Racine, I get violent urges to strangle people. :)

Did reading this article change my attitude?

Well, I'd be willing to put up with more audience distractions, maybe, so long as it's not during really hushed sections of music. Also, no cellphones, whatsoever. There were no cellphones during Liszt's time.

Slightly neurotic, but we love him anyway.

My caper-chord-loving, congan drum instructor is an absolute nutcase, but we still love him. Please observe exhibit A--extensive notes for practicing our music:

"Procession I'VE GOT NEWS: The sound is really gorgeous. Go to www.metronomeonline.com, click on the A 440 (starting pitch) and keep a pulse of eighth note = 138. Duration of notes before breaths (in # of eighth notes): est 3, it 2, e (of hodie) 1!, li 2, li, 3, ti 2, ia, 3, 3 & 3. PRACTICE BREATHING RHYTHMICALLY

Ave Maria Kodály HAIL MOTHER OF GOD: altos keep on checking your G naturals for a headier tone. The Tempo I of m. 59 tends to settle in flat.

In Terra Pax JOYOUS PEACE. Sunday was better rhythmically but it still rushed on letter C sopranos. From m. 25 to the end (with the exception of letter E) I'm at quarter = 100 (practice speaking on www.metronomeonline.com). The last fugato entrance of the middle part was off on Sunday (pick up to m. 83) caught some off guard? Singing more sound throughout solidifies the harmonic transitions. Very effective ending and the spirit was there. "
etc. etc.

Note the instructions to go to such-and-such site and click on such-and-such a tempo marking and practice. Even though this is probably a perfectly reasonable expectation (if it weren't for the potlucks, work functions, final papers and everything else going on during the 2 busiest weeks of the year, that is. . .. Right now, anyone that wants me to do anything besides sleep, eat, go to work and practice is being extremely unreasonable), I can't help but find this absurd.

And yet, he wouldn't have taken the trouble to type all this out if he weren't serious. And this is why we love him to silly pieces. . .. Because he tells us to go to metronome.com and tick out eighth=138 and practice to this online metronome thingie and he is 100 percent serious.

As much as we laugh and at times, groan about his unreasonable demands, it is such an honor to sing and make music with someone who is so exacting and demands perfection and 120 percent out of all of us, as well as with my fellow drummer/choristers who live up to this expectation, all the while being full-time moms, working full-time, taking care of family, taking classes, volunteering on 200 committees, singing or playing in other groups, ice skateing, doing martial arts, training for a marathon, and reading a book a week, etc. etc.

On that note, I better stop blogging and get on that site and practice my eighth=138 timing.

I want a classical music version of Chowhound

After extolling the virtues of Chowhound on my not-as-clandestine food blog, I've decided that what this area really needs is a classical music equivalent of Chowhound. A board where I can find out about latest performances (grouped by region). A board where I can find out about which version of a score is better--the Henle-Verlag or Barenreiter. A board where I can play "name that tune" or "name that conductor" (e.g. does anyone know the name of a composer whose name begins with R and wrote a double trumpet concerto in E minor? It turns out that google is quite useless for such queries. . .). A board where I can ask people whether such-and-such an opera is worth going to or where I can post my own opinions about whether said opera is worth seeing. A board where I can ask about diminished chords in a certain piece. A board where I can ask people what their favorite recording of the Mahler 3rd Symphony is. A board where I can ask for suggestions for picking music for a memorial service for someone who likes Schuman.

Why doesn't such a board exist?!?!?!??!?

Mozart was six when he composed this!

This was one of my favorite quotes during my recent travels to Central Europe. During a dinner conversation, one of the spouses who came along mentioned that when he was in college, he had a roommate who either played piano for fun or was a music major. One day, he overheard his roommate slam his music down after hours of practicing on the piano, and say, "Damnit. Mozart composed this when he was six, and I can't even play it right."

Well, join the club.

I shudder to think of all of the music that people composed when they were of a single digit age, that I cannot "get right" after hours and hours of practice.

I guess this is why some of us compose; others of us just play what others have composed; and then there are some of us who can't even proficiently play what others have composed (that would be me). . ..

I would just love to have a conversation with people who can compose such intricate things at the ripe young age of six. (Though actually, of the two, my preference is to meet Bach.)

Post-concert Musings

I'm listening to Borodin (a wonderful composer whose virtues I'll extoll in a future posting) while writing this post. It is very moving modern music--oh, but I said I wouldn't talk about Borodin. . ..

So instead I will use this space to talk about my choral concert and pat ourselves on our back for doing such an awesome job. I feel a bit funny patting our own backs, but a) this is my blog, so I should be able to do what I want, and b) I think we did such a wonderful job, that we deserve a pat on our backs, even if we run the risk of sounding, oh, full of ourselves.

This weekend was one of the best performance experiences I've ever had. We all worked very hard on the music, which I will say is not easy stuff! Often, I wonder whether the audience realizes how much work it is to memorize the repertoire that we do, sing 8-minute acapella pieces that have 6 parts in mixed formation and still keep it all on pitch. We don't always manage to do this successfully, of course, but we were able to pull this off twice this weekend, along with other challenging pieces with bizzare breakneck tempos, Hungarian and Spanish tongue twisters set to sixteenth note rhythms, dissonant chords, and elusive pitches.

Both evenings, we got (almost instant) standing ovations. Which felt very satisfying. It was probably one of the best performances we've given since I joined the chorus, and according to some of the longer-term members of the chorus, perhaps even one of the best performances that our choir has given in its history.

It made up for the disappointingly low audience turnout. Actually, considering that there were half a dozen concerts going on the same time as our concert, the turnout was not bad, but of course, I think back to the other night when I witnessed a relatively full house for the Mozart requiem concert and wished for an audience of that size and grandeur.

Several of us talked about this after the concert. Of course, our modern avante garde women's choral music is probably never going to have as much mass appeal as a great classical masterpiece such as the Mozart Requiem; however, for all of the interest people in this area seem to have in classical music, and for the amount of work we put into the music, the dismal audience turnout is a bit puzzling.

For example, I tell my friends about our concerts--many of these people would go see Iztak Perlman, Yo Yo Ma, or Chanticleer. And no, the point is not to suggest that we are comparable to any of these groups; the point is to point out that many of my friends are interested enough in classical music to seek out performances of these aforementioned "brand name" performers. Yet, I cannot get most of these people interested in our concerts. Granted, for some of them, their current family situation (having young babies) makes it difficult to attend concerts.

Even when I do succeed in enticing people to come, I know that they are more coming for me (i.e. to support me) than for the music. In fact, that is probably the case with 90 percent of our audience. While it is nice to get support from one's friends, I wonder if our music and music making is enough to sell itself.

In other words, is it compelling music? Does it speak to the people? If we were to remove all of the personal connections we have to the audience, can our music-making sell itself to random strangers?

I think it does, but as someone who has a vested interest in the music, it is very hard to be objective. Based on the audience levels, the answer is "probably not".

However, I did meet a couple from Sacramento who told me they happened to be in town for a few days, were looking for something to do, saw a listing in one of the local papers and decided to check us out. They are singers themselves, and told me how much they enjoyed our concert and the programming. They were effusive with praise.

While a bigger audience would be nice (and heck, more familiar faces in the audience would also be nice), it is these folks--often total strangers--who are musicians themselves and go out of their way to come see us, and then tell us (sincerely) how much they enjoyed our performance that make the experience worthwhile.

* * *

Our conductor read a very insightful excerpt from a book that Aaron Copland wrote in 1949 but is just as relevant today. A great passage which I found on the NYT and will quote here (the rest of the article is actually a fantastic read):

"Why is it that the musical public is seemingly so reluctant to consider a musical composition as, possibly, a challenging experience? When I hear a new piece of music that I do not understand I am intrigued -- I want to make contact with it again at the first opportunity. It's a challenge -- it keeps my interest in the art of music thoroughly alive.

But sadly I've observed that my own reaction is not typical. Most people use music as a couch; they want to be pillowed on it, relaxed and consoled for the stress of daily living. But serious music was never meant to be used as a soporific. Contemporary music, especially, is created to wake you up, not put you to sleep. It is meant to stir and excite you -- it may even exhaust you. But isn't that the kind of stimulation you go to the theatre for or read a book for? Why make an exception of music?

It may be that new music sounds peculiar for the sole reason that, in the course of ordinary listening, one hears so little of it by comparison with the amount of conventional music that is performed year in and year out. Radio and concert programs, the advertisements of the record manufacturers, or school curricula -- all emphasize the idea, unwittingly, perhaps, that "normal" music is music of the past, familiar music that has proved its worth. "

Copland would've liked our music. It certainly stirred, excited, and exhausted--many of us.

A bunch of us ended the exhausting concert weekend with some great Indian food from Shivas. A perfect ending to a very good weekend. We all went home feeling quite sated.

An Evening of Mozart

Despite being brain-dead all day at work, and despite it being a day before my own concert, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to go hear a live performance of one of my favorite works, so I went with 2 friends to go listen to a performance of the Mozart Requiem put on by the Stanford Symphonic Chorus last night.

It was held at Stanford University's Memorial Church, a wonerful venue with great acoustics and somewhat garish gold frescoes whose beauty grows on you the more you go there.

For the mere price of a movie, I got to hear a fabulous live performance of one of the great choral masterpieces! What a bargain. (My two friends who are grad students got to hear it for $5 a piece.)

Although I've listened to the Requiem many times before, this was my first time hearing it live if you don't count summer sing-alongs. I must say that although I have a very good version of it at home (John Elliot Gardiner w/ the Monteverdi Choir), nothing beats hearing it live in such a beautiful space.

The choir was absolutely massive. There must've been about 300 people in the choir.

Stanford is on a quarter system, so the choir has only started rehearsing this piece in early April for a total of 7 or 8 rehearsals. Despite this very short season, I thought they put on a fantastic performance.

The hushed sections were very hushed; the cutoffs on pesky consonants like "s" were very together (which for a choir that huge is quite a challenge!); the delivery was wonderfully expressive and moving.

The orchestra was also wonderful. As a singer (and as a former orchestra member), one of the annoyances I have experienced with orchestras is that they tend to be too loud loud loud and overpower the singers, but the balance was great last night.

One thing I like doing when I go to concerts is watching conductors--how they interact with the musicians, their movements, how they engage with the score, etc. The conductor, Steve Sano, looked so graceful and poised. He almost looked as though he was dancing like a swan, but without being distracting the way many conductors are. His baton drew graceful arcs in the air, all the while keeping a meticulous beat.

Ok, now that I gushed on and on how wonderful the performance was, the negatives:
-As someone who now sings in a choir that uses no music, I missed the interaction with the singers a bit and noticed that many of them were looking down in their music a lot, but their sound was majestic, robust, lyrical, subtle and everything in between.

-The only thing I didn't like about the performance was the soloists. I should preface this by saying that I almost always don't like soprano soloists because their vibrato is too shrilly. This was also the case last night. But I also did not like the male soloists much either. I did not like their individual voices, nor did I like the way they sounded together. When all four of them sang together, they did not blend well at all.

Finally, some observations:
-I did not know that this piece has no french horns in it. I was a bit surprised by the lack of french horns.
-I also did not know that the soloists join in and sing the very last movement.

All in all, a very inspiring and moving performance. Despite being exhausted that day, I was very glad I went.

And now, I must go and prepare for my own concert!!

I'd like a caper on the side of that chord, please.

Today during rehearsal, our director was parsing a chord in one of our pieces. The alto 2s and soprano 1s have the root(?) and fifth, while we (I sing second soprano) have the third. The alto 1s have a weird note that adds color to the chord, or as he put it, "it's the caper that adds a little spice to this chord." (Then he said sort of sheepishly, "I love capers. . ..") It was too precious an image not to capture in print.