Premise Falls Short, 7 Dead, 11 Injured

One of our favorite strategies, here at the DR, is to follow an opening premise to its end, to see if it actually pans out. In most cases, no, it doesn’t. And that’s what makes it funny.

So, in the spirit of tradition, let’s do just that, but abbreviated.

It’s tempting to call Vladimir Feltsman a madman.

Oh my gosh! An opening premise that presumably won’t pan out! Please, please, please tell us—so we can laugh at you—why is it tempting to call him a madman?

It’s crazy what he can do at the piano.

Oh. (sigh)

That’s what most of us would call virtuosic; but, then again, who are we to kiss the Oxford English Dictionary's ass? (And, by the way, screw you Webster! Stop calling.)

You expect the whole thing is going to come apart at the seams, that the elements holding the structure of the piece together are simply going to break apart, like a bridge compromised by a gale force wind.

If by “gale force” you mean Vladimir and by “bridge” you mean music, then no. You’re doing similes wrong, my friend. Bridges blown apart by gale force winds are poorly designed, which is not what you’re saying. Are you saying Chopin sucks. Are you? Didn’t think so.

Figure 1: The original orchestration of the First Piano Concerto 

For an encore, Feltsman offered the ever-popular Chopin Waltz in C-sharp Minor. As he finished the final run at the very top of the keyboard his hand kept going and he seemed to wave goodbye to the audience.

Cute.

Then he smiled – like a madman.

Get it? Because he smiled like a madman, thus ending another awesome DR deconstruction, er, destruction.
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Gauche

The abbreviated story of Ravel’s Concerto pour la main gauche en ré majeur, written for pianist Paul Wittgenstein:

In 1930, the French composer Maurice Ravel (author of the famous Bolero) composed the Piano Concerto in D major at the request of an Austrian pianist, Paul Wittgenstein, who, as the title implies, was left-handed.

Well, that’s not quite accurate. See, as the story goes, in World War I, Wittgenstein had been shot in the right elbow and captured by the Russians, then sent to a prisoner-of-war camp in Siberia. At some point during the horrific sequence of events, Wittgenstein’s right arm was amputated.

Thus ends the abbreviated story of Ravel’s Concerto pour la main gauche en ré majeur, for pianist Paul Wittgenstein.

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Now that you know the story, it’s time to look at this, from the Cleveland Plain Dealer’s very own Zachary Lewis:

In [the pianist’s] hand, the score's downward-dashing motif was like a focused stream of bullets...

[dismay]
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A Sexy Baton

I have nothing “critical” to say about the latest Richard Scheinen simile; it’s stupendously inventive, to say the least. But, I have no idea what it means.

There's rhythmic acuity in Dunner's conducting, as well as a general clarity to his gestures.

Obviously, that’s not the simile, but it sets it up. Symphony Silicon Valley conductor Leslie Dunner apparently did very well, because...

His baton seems to wipe away musical fog, like a wiper clearing mist off a windshield.

Sexy.
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You're Doing It Wrong

Similes are not that hard.

One thing is equated, figuratively rather than literally, to another. Their meta-qualities are put into a kind of ratio, if you will. The reader is asked to find the similarities between objects that are, perhaps, not usually, or only tangentially, related.

Lawrence A. Johnson of the Miami Herald demonstrates the concept for us in this article.

By now, the Cleveland Orchestra's vaunted refinement and virtuosity are known quantities locally after two Miami residency seasons.

Good.

Still, while owning a Rolls-Royce is nice, someone with skilled hands still needs to operate the controls.

Um. Okay, that is a metaphor, and not a simile, but…well…really? Normal drivers cannot operate a Rolls? Hmm. Continue.

Music director Franz Welser-Most's Miami concerts have been uneven to date, which increases the interest on those programs directed by guest conductors.

Fine.

Now 36, Midori has been before the public since she was 10 and her artistry has only deepened, as was made clear in the Japanese violinist's revisionist take on Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto.

Okay.

The Russian war horse is performed so often as a vehicle for surface fireworks and ego-driven solo display that one can forget the depths in the score.

Sure…

Like centuries of grime removed from ancient paintings, Midori's refined poetic sensibility made one appreciate this music anew.

The…

Reading. Writing? Comprehending…

The sentence above insinuates that “Midori’s refined poetic sensibility” is like, in some way, “grime removed from ancient paintings”.

What?

Midori's sensibility is...like...grime?

I don't think that's what was intended here.

Let me take a crack at that failed sentence.

“Like ancient paintings from which ancient grime has been removed, Midori’s refined poetic sensibility…”

No. That equates the ancient paintings to Midori’s poetic sensibility. Which is similarly nonsensical.

The apparent meaning is that Midori’s sensibility reveals intricacies in the score that have been obscured (by centuries of War-horse-ness) somewhat like the removal of grime from ancient paintings reveals hidden details, or whatnot.

I think?

Reader challenge! Make it make sense, dammit!