Music!
I found this on my Facebook from ten years ago today. Liked it. Thought I should post it. So, I did (with a little bit of editing.)
Music!
If you know anything about music, get ready to laugh because I am about to review tonight's performance by the Seattle Symphony at Benaroya Hall.
I can't read music, I can't play an instrument. But I am as big a fan of the Brandenburg Concertos and the Four Seasons (no, not those Four Seasons) as the next guy. So it is with all modesty (and only about 10 to 15 percent of it false) that I begin my review.
We sat in the front row, off toward stage left. I could see the faces of several violin players and also sometimes the conductor, depending on where he was directing his attention. The rest of the faces were blocked by music stands, or the piano, or because the musicians had their backs to me. But it was fascinating and thrilling to watch them. Several moments stood out.
If you would have asked me going in, I would have told you that an orchestra conductor was in absolute charge and made everything happen. It seems I was wrong. During one of the numbers, the conductor turned toward a cello player, imploring her. It was a moment of utter vulnerability for the conductor, it seemed. Without her playing, of course, nothing would happen.
And play she did, as did the rest of the strings. The strings, especially the violins, were like honeyed butter, smooth, creamy and delicious.
Which brings me to another of the moments. At one point during the second half of the performance, the lead violin player flashed a playful look, with raised eyebrows and a grin toward the conductor. It was magic. I wasn't dancing in the aisle but it was clear there was a dance gong on between the conductor and the musicians.
During a stretch of the evening, a piano was placed at center stage, in front of even the conductor. In one of the pieces it was again evident that the conductor is at the vortex of something that no one really controls. There was a near solo for the piano. I could see that the conductor seemed to have to wait, motionless, listening for the piano player to hit a certain note before he could wave the rest of the musicians into action.
But what about the music, you ask.Again, I don't feel qualified to comment on the music but I can say that I was impressed and at times moved by it. The piano, with its chop and plink, somehow seemed to clash with the smoothness of the rest of the orchestra, especially those honey butter strings. But during a J.S. Bach Concerto, the piano hit one clear, distinct, beautiful note that seemed separate and apart from everything else but nonetheless summed up the whole piece in a way that sometimes happens.
I recall seeing a version of Cats at the 5th where Grizabella's singing of "touch me" compacted the entire show into just those two notes, making the whole sprawling, ridiculous thing worthwhile and leaving me and my companions a crying mess. There was some of that kind of beauty tonight, and maybe even a little tear.
If you're keeping score, the music tonight was Sinfonia and Cantata No. 42, by J.S. Bach; Concerto grosso in G major. Op. 6 No 1, by Handel; Keyboard concerto No. 1 in D minor, by J.S. Bach; Keyboard concerto No. 5 in F minor, by J.S. Bach; Sinfonia in C major, W 182, No. 3, by C.P.E. Bach; and Suite No. 2 in G minor, TWV 55:G9 by Telemann. The conductor was Nicholas McGegan. The pianist was Robert Levin and the Associate Concertmaster violin (if I am reading my program correctly) was Emma McGrath. I can not tell from my program who the cellist was. Forgive me.
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