Ursa Major, Minor, and Augmented

We haven’t heard from Anne Midgette in while, so I thought, “What’s she been up to?”

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I. In a Violinist’s Hands, The Masters Come Alive

Think Russian violinist, think high-profile recital debut at the Kennedy Center Concert Hall, and you might think words like soaring, singing, flashy, fireworks.

At least she didn’t say, “bear.” If I had a nickel for every time a critic called a Russian performer a bear...

















...I’d have ten billion-million-thousand-plex dirt-blackened nickels. Ugh. Anyway, thank you Anne for abstaining from the offensive “bear” connotation.

So far, so good.

You probably wouldn't think smoky, subtle, nuanced and understated.

It is said of us islanders, that we take our time to make friends, but when we do it’s for life...

Well, if you love Laphroaig you’ll understand.

But that was how the star violinist Vadim Repin began his overdue Washington recital debut, in the Debussy Violin Sonata, on Saturday afternoon.

To clarify: he began his overdue recital like a scotch whiskey.

Okay. I’m down. This could go places. And, to boot, I like scotch.

Repin slipped into the piece as if the music were a mantle, not a vehicle, something that shaped his appearance, rather than showcasing it.

This makes sense; I like it. But, I must reiterate: The Detritus Review is a no cape zone, period. We will not tolerate the advocacy of capes in any shape or form. Not even as metaphors. They are vulgar, pompous and a waste of the sheep, spiders and baby seals killed to make them.

Still, I want to hear more scotch and/or alcohol metaphors.

The music of the first movement was as soft and raspy and prickling as cigarette smoke: quintessentially Gallic, emphasized by little Satie-like punctuations [by the pianist].

I guess we left the scotch thing behind. (sigh)

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II. From Russia, With Languor

What else ya doin’, Anne?

Valery Gergiev's right hand inhabits a world of its own. Most conductors' hands work independently of each other, but the very fingers of Gergiev's right hand appear to be on separate tracks, pursuing thoughts and ideas within the music that are not necessarily even audible. The hand supplies its own subtext.

That’s very observant, even if it has little to do with the music.

It dances, mesmerizing and odd, like a peculiarly agile crab.

...moving on...

In [Prokofiev’s] "Romeo and Juliet," the playing seesawed between mastery and routine. The winds' entrance with the love theme at one point sounded like a yawn, and the concertmaster, far from embodying the romantic ideals about Russian violinists,

...of Russian violinists?

...played peremptorily in a couple of his solos. Offering a whole act of this piece, rather than the more familiar concert excerpts, is a mixed blessing; you get the dramatic integrity of the work but also fewer highlights and slower pacing.

Now, I’m not sure that this is more Anne or me, but this seems to be a symptom of some kind. Of what? I’m not sure.

Point: Why is it that the journey is no longer the reward? That is, if a work is long and has few climaxes (highlights, memorable tunes; call ’em what you will), why is it often less rewarding than a short piece with lots of memorable doohickeys? Seems to me that many would say that the reward in Beethoven’s music is the journey; the journey rewarded with the coda. In the case of an extended concert version of “Romeo and Juliet,” aren’t you, as an audience member, being given extra context, with which you can appreciate the increasingly sparse highlights a little more?

Even Gergiev's right hand was subdued, by the end, into something approaching conservatism.

...a conservatively agile crab.

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III. ‘The System’s’ Star

If Mozart had been in the hands of a publicist, he might have talked like Gustavo Dudamel.

In English, with a Spanish accent?

The thrillingly gifted 27-year-old conductor is the hottest property in classical music at the moment.

...like a dancing bear, perhaps?
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An American Symptom?

Puppies and kittens are amusing. Shiny things are amusing. Water-fountains are amusing. Automated phone messaging machines are amusing. But, editorials written by whiney, American symphony-goers are not amusing.

I have been a subscriber to the National Symphony Orchestra for more than 10 years, and I've been going to many other performances at the Kennedy Center ever since coming to Washington 44 years ago. But I am not going to renew our NSO subscription this year.

Why? Oh right, you’re going to tell us. Go on, then.

· No, it's not because the Music Center at Strathmore is more convenient by car and Metro.

What? You’d prefer there be a helicopter pad on the roof? A zip line from Bethesda?

· No, it's not because parking at the Kennedy Center costs $17.

Yikes.

· And no, it's not because the acoustics at the Kennedy Center are sub-par.

Well, why, then?

It's because of coughing.

Coughing...really? Coughing is the reason you no longer want to spend $507.50 per subscription, per year? Really?

Yes, coughing has become so pervasive at Kennedy Center performances that one wonders why people should even go out to listen to live music or theater.

Logic reduction alert!

Coughing at Kennedy Center => Don’t go to Carnegie Hall

Enough attention paid to hyperbole, already. Explain yourself!

It was so bad during the exquisitely soft and delicate final movement of Mahler's Third Symphony during an October 2007 concert that I wrote a letter of complaint to the NSO.

For the most part I am in favor of strong letters of complaint, but not in this case. That’s just insensitive. What if you had to cough? Would it be perfectly acceptable for someone tell you to leave--after all, you spent $507.50 for your premium seat?

I was not alone in voicing that concern: NSO music director Leonard Slatkin was so upset by the coughing that evening that he commented on it during the performance.

What a dick!

And the next day, Post critic Tim Page wrote about it in his review: "Alas, many in the audience coughed through much of the last movement last night."

But did the coughing stop him from enjoying the concert? Perhaps, only momentarily. Just saying, if you were a John Cage fan, you wouldn’t have a problem with coughing, or laughing, or noise beyond the doors, or even cellphones.

In my first letter I suggested that the NSO and the Kennedy Center do some research into the cause of this excessive, disruptive, mood-breaking hacking.

Again, just saying, but coughing is probably related to sickness or smoking or something. You really want them to research the matter, instead of providing you with the best music and performances possible, with your $507.50?

How have other concert halls dealt with this problem? Do they issue edicts? Do they make cough drops available in the lobby?

Vote “none of the above,” Brewster.

During a recent trip to Europe, I heard little if any coughing during symphonic concerts in the gilded, glittering concert halls of Prague, Vienna and Budapest.

That’s the equivalent of saying, “I went whale-watching three times and didn’t see any whales.”

Are Hungarians immune to the sniffles?

No. Are you?

Fun facts: In Hungary, there are 9,930,915 people and only 32 McDonald’s. This gives us a ratio of 1 Ronnie Mac per 310,341 Hungarians.

In the Untied States, there are 303,824,646 people and 13,381 McDonald’s. This gives us a ratio of 1 MacDo per 22,606 Americans.

What was that about the sniffles, again?

Do Austrians rarely have sinus problems?

Doubtful. But they do have a fairly comprehensive healthcare system.

Do Czechs check their coughs at the cloakroom?

You mean, like farting into a jar?

Hardly. It must be that those audiences are aware of the disrupting, incommoding effect of coughing on the tranquil mood created by the pianissimo passages of a composition.

That is, if they assume—remember what they say about people who assume things?—that all pianissimos are tranquil.*

The managers of concert halls and theaters have been inveighing for some time against the electronic and mechanical noisemakers of our age, including pagers, alarm watches and the most recent curse, cellphones.

If you mean by recent, “within the last 15 years,” here’s something even newer for you to expunge.

Why hasn't the Kennedy Center urged its patrons to silence the natural noisemakers all concertgoers carry to every concert: their larynxes?

While we’re at it, why don’t we staple everyone’s lips, plug noses with Crazy Glue and sew assholes shut with dental floss? And why stop there? Why don’t we cut off people’s hands (you don’t want spasmodic clapping)? Or how about restricting the types shoe soles that can be worn inside the hall? Ooh! I know! All program notes should be printed on cloth.

And because the NSO refuses to do any of this, you’re not going to plop-down $507.50 for a subscription anymore?

My wife and I will miss seeing the familiar faces of National Symphony Orchestra members who almost seem like family to us after all the years of harmony.

Oh sorry. $1015.

We will miss the exquisite musical moments we've heard so often in recent years under Maestro Slatkin. We will miss the exciting responsiveness of the orchestra that we heard when it was under the direction of its new principal conductor, Ivan Fischer.

“Hey, honey. Remember how the NSO was so responsive?”

“Yeah. It was exciting, the responsiveness. There was too much coughing, though.”

But we will not miss sitting in the Kennedy Center trying to listen to a concert through all the wheezing, hacking and, yes, coughing.

Isn’t hacking another word for coughing?

*I have an idea for my next composition: an opera about prison life, where inmates lovingly, but quietly, sing sweet nothings to each other at night.
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