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.

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.

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.

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!!