Give this CD review a gander:
Paul Lewis’ Beethoven piano sonatas lovely, but a bit too British
Today’s question for the Detritusites: what is it exactly that Cantrell says about British comportment?
First, Lewis is described as able, thoughtful, eager, lovely and elegant. Then, somehow, his inner-Brit gets in the way. Cantrell wants more wit, more danger and more ecstasy, just like he received from Schiff’s recording.
And Mr. Lewis misses the songlike qualities of the variation themes in Op. 109 and 111; the former is too foursquare, the latter too slow.
Foursquare: unless Cantrell is referring to a church, waterproof jackets, rum, an American architectural style, an archaic definition or a video production company in San Diego, he’s saying that the performance of Op. 109 was childish or simplistic, like the game. Sure, he could’ve meant “square,” as in "conventional or boring." But "foursquare" is an archaic English definition of the geometric figure; it's not related to the informal shortened form.
Now, dear Detritusites, I'll ask again: what about the British demeanor that makes for an unsatisfactory Beethoven performance?
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5/17/08
Help the Detritus, Save the Queen
5/16/08
Puffy Pandering's Plateau
Seriously, who cares?
HOW DO you add sparkle to a fatigued operatic war horse? Bring out the jewelry and let it shine under the spotlight.
(blank stare)
But not just any old jewelry. For its latest revival of "Tosca," opening Saturday, Los Angeles Opera has obtained a rare stage artifact -- the jewelry worn by Maria Callas in 1956 for her Metropolitan Opera debut as Giacomo Puccini's tragic heroine.
Made of nearly 200 tear-shaped Swarovski crystals, the jewelry was created specifically for Callas by the Atelier Marangoni in Milan, Italy.
The three-piece set, which consists of a tiara, earrings and a fanned-out necklace, is worth approximately $85,000, according to Swarovski, the current owner.
"To wear this talisman -- I have to pinch myself," says soprano Adrianne Pieczonka, who shares the role of Tosca in this revival with Georgina Lukacs. "People were taken aback by how bright they were during rehearsals. It doesn't bother me, but I hope it won't be a distraction for the audience."
Pieczonka will wear the Callas jewelry in Act 2 of "Tosca," which is the most vocally and physically demanding section of the opera.
You know, I heard through the grapevine that the Berlin Philharmonic will be touring North America under the direction of a secret, but famous, conductor to be announced later. He/She will be wearing Karajan’s underwear. The very underwear the maestro was sporting during a random performance of Strauss’s sweaty, super-physically demanding “warhorse,” Ein Heldenleben. And in case you're wondering, the Maestro's extra-special change depository hasn't been washed for nearly thirty years.
I mean, really, who cares? That's as deep as this analysis is going. Take it or leave it. Don't like it? Whatever, I do what I want.
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5/15/08
And the Nominee for Best Faux Aphorism Is...
Sam Richards of the Oakland Tribune for his stylish
If you’ve got something good, you might as well use it.
It sure is a mind-bogglingly clever take on, “if you got it, flaunt it.” Also, one of the best openings to begin an article, ever! Congrats to Sam for a job well done. More nominees to be announced later.
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5/14/08
Oh My Gods! Frak!
By now, I’m sure that we’re all aware of the Detroit Symphony’s latest shtick: Asimo, Honda’s robot human helper, conducted the Symphony on Tuesday. Well, actually, it conducted one paltry Broadway tune, not a full-length symphony. Anyway, the AP press picked up the story as did Mark Stryker of the Detroit Free-Press and a handful of others. It even made its way across the pond.
Asimo the robot: OK, but does he seduce the sopranos?
Richard Morrison of the Times Online (“News Site of the Year” -The 2008 Newspaper Awards) apparently has some reservations. Perhaps we ought to test the humanity (read competence) of our conductors by their ability to womanize. Sweet. I like where this is going.
Before hailing Asimo, Honda’s robot conductor, as the Toscanini of our age, I think we would need its technique and interpretative powers to be put through a sterner test than is provided by that cheesy Sixties ballad, The Impossible Dream.
Right. How many sopranos can he shag? That’s the litmus test.
What I find fascinating is how the role of the conductor is reinterpreted by each age.
(with sarcasm) Wow! Why don’t you give us an absurd reduction of the roles of conductors through each age. That would be fascinating.
In the Victorian era the conductor was the epitome of the Romantic artist as demigod — treated with awe and reverence. After the Russian Revolution, the Soviet Union attempted to abolish conductors altogether, instructing orchestras to rely on collective decision-making and socialist comradeship to get them through performances (an experiment that lasted for about three weeks of cacophonic anarchy).
In the age of the great dictators, conductors such as Otto Klemperer and George Szell were given licence to terrorise orchestras with vicious sarcasm and impossible demands. Whereas in the chilled-out Sixties, the leading conductors — as epitomised by Leonard Bernstein and Andre Previn — were laid-back, groovy dudes, as comfortable on a chat show as on the podium.
(more sarcasm) Wow! That was fascinating. You managed to isolate a few conductors who somehow represented all the rest, whittle their eccentricities down to generalizations about the age and, simultaneously, move forward in time to bring us to the precipice of the actual topic: can Asimo get laid?
Fine work, so far. Now, how about today? You know, the conductors. What about them?
And our generation? Well, we have reinvented the conductor as a robot.
We did? I seem to remember an article, not too long ago, that mentioned that one robot conducted one piece that only lasted only about three minutes.
To say that the entire generation is defined by Asimo, the one time conductor, is the lamest thing I’ve heard of since that thing about God being mad at us, which is why he unleashed Katrina on New Orleans.
How apt for an age that is increasingly replacing human-to-human communication with impersonal technological interfaces.
Again, Asimo conducted a symphony orchestra once. That’s it. Once. It was a novelty, an amusement. In fact, it was a fucking advertisement! Honda donated one million dollars to Detroit Symphony Orchestra education program(me)s (talk about economic irony) in exchange for a performance lead by Asimo (see Mark Stryker above). It would seem that the human-to-human element is, well, greedily opportunistic. Asimo: just a conductor (a programmed conductor at that); not an apt expression of musical, nor social, progress.
But is Asimo the finished article?
No. But then again, he was never intended to conduct a symphony; he’s supposed to be able to help the elderly with mundane tasks. This Detroit Symphony business was a one time deal, worth one million dollars. An advertiss-ment.
Does he have an ego the size of Belgium?
No. It’s a robot.
Does his agent demand that he gets a fee equivalent to the rest of the orchestra put together?
No. It’s a robot and, in this case, a prop, a plug, an advertisement.
And how many young sopranos has he seduced?
Ugh. None, because it’s a robot. So?
Until we know the answer to these vital artistic questions, we can’t really call him a true maestro.
Here’s the thing: I’m not sure what this article is about. Or, I have ideas, but none that jump out as correct, because I have a number of questions.
I mean, why does Richard initially represent Asimo as a thing (it), then later assign it a gender (he)? I thought he was poking fun at Asimo’s lack of humanity, lack of human-to-human communication. Does that mean Richard is really poking fun at human conductors’ fallibilities? Why is this necessary? Is it a problem? I thought we’ve been living and dealing with egos for...since the beginning of time.
If I may attempt some conjecture...
1. If the point of the article is to deride conductors or their stereotypes, through Asimo, then whoops. Richard said that it’s human to be fallible, which is a logical step backward. It doesn’t work.
2. If we can’t cheer Asimo in the same way as a real-life conductor, because Asimo is not human, then this is perhaps a strangely (unintentionally) veiled advocation of misogyny.
3. Shucks. Just insert Battlestar Galactica “toaster” reference here.
Anyway, if the purpose of this weirdness was to get a rouse out of its audience, or bring up the ol’ man vs. machine debate, or waste some space, then it worked. But I have trouble believing that this is an idle, opinion-less piece. How about you?
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[Edit Empiricus] I have rightly been corrected: The $1 million dollar gift to the DSO was not directly linked to Asimo's appearance. Instead, it was truly philanthropic, thus rendering that thread...uh, excessive and perhaps unfair. Cheers! And a new color for edits!
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5/13/08
Bad Metaphors Are Bad
Lawrence A. Johnson of the Miami Herald has a nice piece about the state of orchestras in America. It seems that the Concert Association's new director's bottom-line philosophy is causing the subscribers some consternation.
This is a huge problem. The state of concert attendance, coupled with the state of the economy, is causing orchestras (and, evidently, numerous newspapers' arts sections) financial difficulties.
However, bad metaphors are still not allowed.
Concert Association moves worry ticket subscribers
I bet they do!
Ten days ago, London's Philharmonia Orchestra roared out the end of Mahler's Symphony No. 1, closing the Concert Association of Florida's season on a resoundingly successful note.
Ah, the music season ended on a note. Classic. Pedantic, perhaps, but classic. And apt! Carry on...
But there are minor-key discords on the horizon.
But...What? No. Because, see...
Discords. Minor keys. Both of these things (more concepts than things, really) have...some connotations of sadness, negativity, and the like. But in trying to extend your musical analogy, you have failed. Choosing either minor keys or dissonance to make your point would have been...adequate.Dissonance is the same in minor and major keys.
Dissonances require resolution (in tonal music). Regardless of the key.
Minor keys have a (completely societal) extra-musical connotation of sadness, gravity, and so forth.
"Minor-key" (why the hyphen?) "dissonances" is just nonsense. Nonsense? Nonsense!
Ho Hum
Another Bernard Holland article. Ho hum.
Schoenberg and his school do not make us smile,
(yawn) Ho hum.
but then, they rarely try.
Ho (yawn) hum.
Ho. Hum. Yawn.
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In Memoriam: A Seattle Supersonic
Melinda Bargreen is gone. No, not like that, but enjoying retirement at the hands of Seattle Times staff reductions. Even though we've had our bones to pick with her on several occasions, it is truly sad that the Times sacked one of Seattle’s only music critics after almost 31 years of splendid service.
Way to go, fuckheads! Enjoy the cloudy weather!
Painting by Jana Bartouskova.
5/9/08
Why the Detritus?
I enjoy Anne Midgette’s articles. She’s thoughtful. She’s articulate. She’s eloquent even—a nice fit with the venerable Washington Post. But today...
Somebody forgot to tell the violinist Hilary Hahn that Schoenberg is ugly.
This is, by far, the most disappointing thing I’ve ever read from a respectable, industrious, (how about) progressive critic. More importantly—because after all that was only my opinion—she crossed the boundary between impartiality and partiality. “Schoenberg is ugly” is declarative in the worst, most biased sense. This is something we expect from others, but not our Anne!
And now for something completely different:
The music of Arnold Schoenberg, of course, isn't ugly at all;
How can this be? She just said, “Schoenberg IS ugly.” I don’t get it. What kind of twisted negative rhetorical device is this?
(loud, pissed-off sigh)
Sorry. Well, I’m not sorry. No one gets to have it both ways. Either Schoenberg is or he isn’t. So, Anne, choose the form of the destructor.
in fact, he's one of the last of the romantics.
Let me understand this correctly. Schoenberg isn’t ugly, BECAUSE he’s a romantic composer; if he were a modernist, he’d be ugly. Is that really the direction you want to take this, Anne?
...
Fine.
Her new recording of the Schoenberg Violin Concerto on Deutsche Grammophon, released last month, shows no traces of the spiky, unpleasant angularity that represents Schoenberg in the popular consciousness.
You, Anne, and all critics are the everyday opinion-molders of the popular consciousness. Thus, Schoenberg’s reputation is your doing. You are the one(s) responsible for his unpleasantness. They are your descriptors.
I mean, listen, really listen, to what this says:
Both musicians [Esa-Pekka Salonen and Hahn] are smart enough not to get tied in knots by Schoenberg's score, and to see through it to the composer's inner romantic.
It says that the conductor and violinist smartly mined romanticism out of Schoenberg’s otherwise ugly, difficult, spiky, unpleasantly angular, dense, clotted, ferocious piece (all adjectives found previously within the article).
Do you now see how Schoenberg and modernism get their reputations? Reviews like this, which say, “Despite Schoenberg, the music is beautiful, because of the performers.” What kind of dismissive, backhanded logic forgets that the composer put those sounds, those romantic, angular notes, onto paper and not the performers? Apparently articles like these:
To sweeten the pill for non-initiates, Hahn pairs Schoenberg with Sibelius [...]
I am truly disgusted and disappointed, today. But, then again, this is why we are here: to defend good writing and trash the bad.
(By the way, I didn’t say “fuck” once, but I wanted to. Congrats Empiricus! Thank you.)
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5/8/08
Specificity Required
Let’s try a bit of deductive reasoning to identify this enigma, this mysterious “Allegro,” to which Sabine Kortels of the Denver Posts refers.
Closing the delightful, well-paced program with flair and finesse, Spivakov led the [Moscow Virtuosi Chamber Orchestra] in a light, breezy reading of Mozart's brief "Allegro."
Okay, the facts. It's a piece by Mozart. Allegro means fast. It was written for orchestra, presumably without a soloist. It is brief. It is, loosely, “light” and “breezy.”
All we have to do now is find a list of Mozart’s works and start to rule out pieces that don’t fit the facts.
List
(scanning....scanning...)
I wonder if I can include the allegro movements from his symphonies? How ‘bout another list?
List 2
(scanning...scanning...)
Dammit! I give up. Sabine, please just give us the Köchel Number, or some other identifier.
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We Are the Dohnanyi, You Will Be Assimilated
I don’t know if he meant it that way, but Mark Swed made a curious reference concerning London Philharmonic conductor Christoph von Dohnányi and his old-school ways.
One can fight Dohnányi's stern approach. I tried. But the players clearly revere this conductor. And in the end, when the brass stood and played too loud for the hall, when the clotted strings and winds became a sonic army, when Dohnányi's sense of mission produced a startling climax, resistance seemed futile [it. mine].
If anyone was to deserve this reference, musically speaking, I thought maybe Hanz Pfitzner would be the ideal candidate. Or even, Richter. Klemperer. Strauss. Furtwängler.
Sheesh. How jejune. Anyway, silly Germans.
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5/7/08
Call for a Moratorium
Alas, it has long been tradition to make puns and jokes using musical terms and names. I love puns and jokes, sometimes even especially music-based hilarity. But some traditions have played themselves out. Like:
Q: Why couldn't Mozart find his teacher?
A: Because he was Haydn!
See! An alarmingly clever --and super-tired--play on words. Or this:
Q: Why did Mozart kill all of his chickens?
A: They kept saying "Bach! Bach! Bach!"
Great. That's just great.
It is, more than anything, the puns on the name "Bach" for which I am calling a moratorium.
Alas, I am too late. The normally-reliable John von Rhein of the Chicago Tribune offers this gem, in re: the upcoming Bach Week Festival.
Cue the choir. Sound the trumpets. Bang the drums.
Why, whatever for?
The Bachanalia is about to begin!
Can we please, please stop the madness?
RESEARCH UPDATE:
Very unfortunately, there is already a group of the same name.
Color me...unsurprised.
Metaphoric Boos
Today’s winner of the “Failed Food Metaphors” tag comes from Burkhardt Reiter of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette with his review:
Quartet overcomes venue limitations for intimate concert
We certainly have seen some ham-fisted food metaphors in our day, but what follows just might take the cake.
If the New Hazlett Theater were a martini, it would be a very dry one.
Of course, what he’s saying is that the Theater’s acoustics were dry, meaning dull, boxy and/or non-reverberant. It also helps explain the title: it was a good show despite the hall’s dryness. Fine. No problem.
Unless you prefer your martinis dry.
But here’s where Burkhardt shakes it up, when he’s supposed to stir:
Despite the New Hazlett's acoustic drawbacks, the quartet projected a sense of intimacy in this space that a more reverberatory venue may have lacked.
A contradiction: the dryness of the theater is what made the quartet metaphorically taste sweeter! That is the opposite of a dry martini, sir. See Vermouth. FAIL.
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Unfortunately, Burkhardt doesn’t stop cooking up metaphors there.
Served as an appetizer to the rest of the concert, the quartet presented three movements from "John's Book of Alleged Dances" by John Adams...
Then,
The meat of the first half was Terry Riley's "Mythic Birds Waltz" and Wayne Peterson's "Jazz Play."
What could possibly be the dessert? I’m dying for chocolate-covered strawberries.
Sadly and wisely, the dessert is only implied. But it’s still rather disturbing, because it's what I’d expect from modernist-hater Bernard Holland, not Burkhardt Reiter and his warm review of newer pieces. It’s...
...(drumroll)...
the only romantic piece on the concert. By. Beethoven! Yeah!
Boo and FAIL.
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5/6/08
Zest and Zeal and Editors and Sentences
Zesty ROCO concert starts on slower note
As noted in this space before, columnists are not necessarily responsible for titling their efforts. Mr. Ward may not be culpable, here. However, if some editor wrote the title above they 1) read only the first paragraph when choosing the title, and/or 2) did not bother to edit the rest of the article. Because it needs editing, which I will now elucidate. Begin!
The River Oaks Chamber Orchestra needed a few movements to warm to guest conductor Joel Smirnoff. When it did, it took to music of Maurice Ravel, Joseph Haydn and Brad Sayles with relish and zeal.
I’d prefer “warm up to”, but I’ll accept “warm to” in the interest of brevity. However, I do not like relish. I do, though, like zeal in my martinis. “Give me a dry martini with zeal,” I’ll often say.
In the practice of today, ROCO named its final program of the season The Philosopher.
“In the practice of today”? What does that mean? Read that sentence again. I’ll wait. See? What? I…don’t know.
Taken from the nickname of Haydn's Symphony No. 22, it was a silly choice.
Um, okay?
Only one of the three works had anything substantial to do with philosophy: Sayles' Echoes of Invention after the popular public radio program of John Lienhard.
What? How has the connection between the work’s title (let alone the piece itself) been shown to have “anything substantial” to do with philosophy? Sayles’ piece is “after” a popular radio program? What? Named after? Inspired by? I really…
Smirnoff and others soon gave up trying to pack the music inside that title during their comments.
They…gave up…packing music…into the title…during comments? You…how does one pack music into a title? Perhaps the intended sentiment is something like “…they failed to show how the music conformed to the rubric “The Philospher” during their pre-concert talk”? But that’s the most sense I can make of this madness. Is it me? Am I dense? The…
The first performance, Saturday afternoon at
“A standard concert-giving”? Passive voice much? Is “a standard concert-giving” in “the practice of today”? Has anyone proofread this? Common usage is on the what now?
Only the excessive chattiness marked any departure.
Ugh. A common complaint. Critics hate it when artists take the time to try to explain the music to an audience. Especially because they’re trying to attract new audiences, often people who are less-than-familiar with the repertoire. My theory is that critics secretly hope classical music will just finally fucking die, so they don’t have to do their dreary jobs (attending concerts and subsequently writing about it) anymore. Perhaps they all secretly want to be laborers?
Much of the talk added little to the music.
See above.
It was particularly embarrassing to hear St. John Flynn, KUHF's new director of cultural programming and host of the arts program The Front Row, place Smirnoff as the new head of the Cincinnati Institute of Music when the correct city is
Okay. That is really, really embarrassing. I’ll give you that. That is, in fact, unconscionably stupid, and Herr Ward is totally on the money here. Here’s a hint, St. John Flynn (director of cultural programming, for fuck’s sake): If you’re addressing a bunch of people, know what the hell you’re talking about.
[Edit: This was not his fault; see comments section. However, I will not delete the paragraph in the interest of honesty--SA.]Smirnoff opened with Ravel's Le Tombeau de Couperin, which looked back at Baroque dance movements for inspiration.
Le Tombeau de Couperin looks at things now? Since when are musical works sentient? Perhaps it was Ravel who was…
The first two movements went by as if everyone were on cruise control, rolling down the musical highway with highly tuned technique but little roar from the emotional engine. But midway through the third movement, Menuet, a swell of volume and energy turned into a swell of commitment and alertness. For the rest of the program, Smirnoff and musicians really clicked.
I don’t like the construction here. “Emotional engine”? However, the sentiment expressed is a valid criticism couched in a bizarre, if apt, metaphor. Fine. But:
In Haydn's symphony, Smirnoff and the musicians gave listeners a vivid reminder of Haydn's penchant for the unexpected:
It wasn’t Haydn that reminded listeners that he did strange things...it was the performance?
a seeming wrong turn in harmonies there,
Seemingly? (Note: adverbs modify verbs.) Also, some other performance of the same piece would not have “reminded” listeners of the seemingly wrong harmonic turn?
or, in the first movement, an unusual music texture.
Ah, yes. This is the one that really got me. “Unusual music texture”? Music texture? The…I…whew. No explanation, no elucidation, no…anything. First, “music texture” is redundant, since the article is about music. That’s like calling a cow a “land cow.” Second, that is the most awkward turn of phrase…ever. And what in The Flying Spaghetti Monster’s name does it mean?
The horns opened with a question, as Smirnoff termed it, and English horns answered, while the lower strings gave a very good imitation of the walking bass from American jazz. That's not the usual opening heard in Classical-era symphonies.
You…you just intimated—no, asserted—that Haydn’s 22nd Symphony (I assume, because you’ve failed to mention which symphony was played) IMITATES AMERICAN JAZZ. Can I please have your time machine? Because you’ve lost all track of the linear flow of history. I like the piece where Bach imitates Charles Ives. It’s my favorite!
The orchestra played with zest
As noted, I love me some zest (and/or zeal)! Especially with gin. Mmmm.
and distinctive style. The second movement had a low gusty roar, in part because the strings played with lots of grit to
“to” = “in”?
their bowing. The fourth movement, the last, sped along with woodwinds churning out repeated notes with surprising clarity.
The fourth movement was the last in a Haydn symphony? Dang!
Sayles' work comprised a series of six segments using text by Lienhard. The subject was "ghosts." They often were unexpected things that reminded us of the past in ways that might discomfort us, like the mummy found in the
What? Who are “they”? Do you mean “there”? Also: What? Mummies?
A recording engineer at KUHF, Sayles surrounded the words with a comfortable, eclectic style that suggested here and there movie themes of John Williams, the repetition of Philip Glass, soaring movie scores in general, pseudo-tribal dances, and a few other styles. The music sounded comfortable but the compositional technique was sure and the emotional shape of the music instinctively first-class.
John Williams’ movie scores, Glass, and, oh, also, movie scores. And a few other, non-specified styles. Great freaking sentence, wordsmith. Also the “emotional shape” (whatever that means) totally has extra leg room, a drink before take-off, and no charge for headphones for the in-flight movie. Instinctively.
KUHF's Dean Dalton narrated. Unfortunately, his body microphone wasn't well sited and many of his words came across slightly distorted and, often, overwhelmed by the accompaniment.
Finally, a coherent thought. About microphones.
Back to the top, and title: How, if at all, does the bulk of the article elucidate how the concert “started on a slower note”? What? Not at all? Only the first paragraph? Oh. Fine. I'll just show myself out...
Somewhere in
Hot Stuff from 1944, Ewww!
I must say, at the onset, that ClassicsToday is a good resource for those looking to find assessments of new recordings that often get overlooked by newspapers. And most of the reviews do, in fact, take into account the review philosophy set down by Executive Editor David Hurwitz. Only, he doesn’t write those ones. Historically, he forgoes the review philosophy completely, opting to address the quality of the music, which tends to expose his blatant dislike, nay disdain, of new music (by “new,” I mean music written after 1900).
So, from now on, I’m going to treat David Hurwitz as if the review philosophy didn’t exist. I won’t go on and on about how he didn’t address the “sound quality” or the “performance.” Instead, I’ll focus on what he says about the music. I think it would be easier on both of us.
That said...
Steven Stucky's Son et Lumière is one of those modern, anonymous-sounding "texture" pieces,
...this is fucked up beyond all recognition. He admits that he lumps—maybe categorizes if I were nice—music into modern/not modern, anonymous/authored and “texture”/ “_____” subsections worth easily dismissing. How condescending is that “those!” It’s like, “We need to build a gigantic wall to keep those Mexicans out!” “Texture” in quotations? Give me a break, David.
I would like to propose a new word to describe the irrational hatred of unfamiliar music: xenophonephobia.
Take that Bernard Hollands of the world!
...but it's no less rewarding for that as Stucky writes for the orchestra with great flair and confidence and the piece delivers exactly what the title promises: interesting sounds featuring an enjoyable interplay of light and shade.
Well, the title...only sort of. Wiki magic! But,
David actually...gulp...liked the piece? That might be a bit strong. I think that he was pleasantly indifferent to it.
*Have you ever gone to new music concert, mingled with the composers afterward and said something like, “Your piece was...um...interesting...and um...well-written,” but you didn’t really care for it and you were just being nice? No. Screw you! That’s happened to me.
Either way, Hurwitz sort of apologizes for his outright dismissal of one of “those” pieces, because it was interesting. Could he be turning a modernist corner?
Gabriel Ian Gould (no relation to Morton) is a young (b. 1974) composer whose Watercolors for English horn and orchestra is a sort of Swan of Tuonela for the New Millennium. If my preferences remain firmly with the old swan, this is still an attractive 12 minutes of pastels, the perfect contrast to Stucky's "in-your-face" opening.
“Attractive?” Wow. Maybe Hurwitz finally jumped on the 20th-century bandwagon.
But now comes the really hot stuff.
What’s that? Hot stuff? (puts on swimming goggles)
John Harbison's Cello Concerto (1993) strikes me as one of his most successful instrumental works, largely on account of very colorful orchestration that features an "East meets West" assortment of gongs and tuned percussion. The result avoids the timbral dullness that afflicts many of Harbison's other works, as does the inventive solo part that cellist David Finckel (of Emerson String Quartet fame) plays with admirable relish. You can enjoy this repetition-friendly work at first hearing and return to it with increasing pleasure as your familiarity with its captivating sound world deepens.
Amazing what can happen when you don’t outright dismiss things.
The main event, Morton Gould's Symphony No. 2 "On Marching Tunes", will come as a shock to those who think that the subtitle, the composer's reputation as a musical populist, and the date of composition (1944) mean that we're going to be treated to some sort of nationalistic pot-boiler. Indeed, the opening Variations and zesty third-movement Quickstep offer plenty of evidence to support that notion. They are brilliant and tremendous fun. But the second movement, Bivouac, really is a tenderly nostalgic berceuse, and the long, slow finale, Memorial, carries the music into regions inhabited by the finale of Shostakovich's Eighth Symphony, which it strongly resembles in its grief-stricken emotional ambiance and quietly ambivalent "major-key" ending.
The only problem I have with this is that Hurwitz likes the oldest piece best; it’s his most favoritest. Though, I’m not surprised with his preference, being a xenophonephobiac and all.
Let’s play a quick game. Queue the soundtrack. And. Go!
Son et Lumière (1988)
Cello Concerto (1993)
Watercolors (1998)
Symphony 2 (1944)
That was fun, wasn’t it?
[...] I have no doubt that it deserves to be ranked among the finest of 20th century symphonies.
Because it resembles Shostakovich’s Eighth Symphony’s “grief-stricken emotional ambience?” Air-tight logic that I will not attempt to crack. Not in a million-billion years.
Even if you don't respond positively to the other pieces on the disc (and they all are a touch more "modern" than Albany's musical average), you will find owning Gould's masterpiece well worth the outlay.
That sucks. He fucked up an otherwise good, for David Hurwitz, review (don't forget that we omitted the review philosophy) with one little, stinking “modern” in quotation marks. I mean, he was doing well for a while, then, thhbbbt! He shoved new music to the side, once again.
It’s sad. Even if we don’t hold Hurwitz up to the same review standards, which he penned, as we do others at ClassicsToday, we’re still left with shoddy writing and a classic case of xenophonephobia.
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5/3/08
Holy Shit.
Here, we wouldn’t dare say “music is the universal language of mankind,” without rightly extending Wordsworth's sentiments to include women.
But, then again, in some corners of the world we could, just not classical music.
Judging by the reactions of some Saudis to Mozart, I worry that by finally introducing "romantic climaxes," Beethoven might be revolutionary once again, but for vastly different reasons, i.e., if it’s not too boring.
Because we all know it is!
5/2/08
Music Espresso, How May I Help You?
There is something to be said for the consistency of analytical method in a review. There are exceptions (mostly poetic), of course, but if inconsistent, the review can easily expose its author’s biases, unfamiliarity with the work or even the low levels of caffeine in her or his system. None of which, I think we’ll all agree, makes for good, fair criticism.
In Sarah Bryan Miller’s case, one can see, via the progression of her stylistic consistency, how the St. Louis Symphony’s morning concert series may not be the best idea. That is, from a PR standpoint, if you want a good review, make sure there is plenty of espresso to wake up the critic; they often have late, late, finger-crampy nights.
Perhaps it was appropriate to open a Friday morning coffee concert with a piece by Igor Stravinsky jn [sp.] jittery, nervous mode; the Concerto in D sounds distinctly overcaffeinated in places.
Perhaps it was the sheer rudeness of being disturbed before Stage N3 was complete, but isn’t it Sarah’s job to be wide awake and alert?
Apparently, the coffee hadn’t worked its magic, yet.
The Concerto demands great technical ability, but doesn’t offer listeners much to cherish. From its skittish opening, it drifts into a limping dance and a melody that loses its way -- and back into anxiety.
I can just see the eye crusties and the unwillingness to listen. Maybe a few yawns and a cowlick or two.
However, by saying that the piece “doesn’t offer listeners much to cherish” is downright lazy. (Personally, I wasn't familiar with the Concerto in D, so I took a few minutes to become acquainted, at which time I found this lovely little YouTube video of the middle movement, and an article written by Greg Sandow who said this about it:
One of my great musical pleasures — in many ways a guilty one — is the slow movement of Stravinsky's Concerto in D, written in 1946 for string orchestra. Stravinsky, of course, was a Very Serious Composer, but in the 1930's and 40's he wrote some fluff, and this slow movement sounds, I swear, a bit like Mantovani, the man who once reigned as the king of easy listening.
Not exactly “limping” by my account, anyway.) It’s lazy because it doesn’t make its case very well. Why does “skittish” to “limping” to “anxiety” make for a bad piece of music? I don’t think there’s anything inherently non-cherishable about this description or progression of descriptors.
No doubt, the coffee hadn’t settled in.
The compactness of the first half was accentuated by having the conductor double as soloist in the morning’s second work. Leonidas Kavakos, an estimable violinist who made his Symphony conducting debut on Friday morning, led a small chamber ensemble in J.S. Bach’s Violin Concerto in D minor, BWV 1052.
As a violinist, Kavakos offered his usual spot-on accuracy, with great beauty in the lyric passages and technique to spare. As conductor, he had great interaction with the players in the front stands; some of the lower strings, however, didn’t stay with him as well.
And that’s all there was to say about the Bach. No “good piece.” No “bad Bach.” It just was.
I liken this to that moment of repose after waking up, having had the first sip of Sanka, sort of neither fully conscious nor asleep, but still kind of functional, spewing out inconsistent gibberish and clichés like “technique to spare.”
But don’t worry. Sarah was fully awake for the second half. I’m guessing another cup of Joe and a cigarette during intermission.
The second half was a reasonably solid, if not overwhelming, performance of Felix Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 3 in A minor, op. 56, "Scottish."
HYOPERBOLE TIME! I’M WIDE AWAKE. JITTERY AND OVERCAFFIENATED IN PLACES! OVERWHELMING! AHHHH! BUZZZZZ! ROMANTIC SWEEP! ROMANTIC ARCHING! NARRATIVING NARRATIVES! WEEEEEEE! BLACK! NO SUGAR! SUN-DAPPLED WHIMSY!
The Mendelssohn, a full-blown Romantic work, offers an abundance of melody and evocative tonal painting to gladden the heart and ears of the most traditional of concertgoers.
A Note to the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra Program Director: Let’s make it the “Friday Lunch Time Tea & Cookie Concert Series.” Please.
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5/1/08
Apt Alliteration's Artful Aid: It's Almost Summer
The quote goes, “Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration’s artful aid.” (Charles Churchill)
Well, it surely isn’t the clever journalist and critic Joshua Kosman, with:
Tuesday was such a beautiful night for Beethoven, Lang Lang decided to play two.
Congrats! Sort of a sonata thing going on in there, with “Lang Lang” as the development. I especially liked the dental Ds and the plosives.
Whoa, it’s slow out there.
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