Classical Ear

Last Thursday, I went to the ballet, Romeo and Juliet, and didn’t like it.  I don’t normally go to the ballet, but I threw caution to the wind that night.  When I came home, I tried to figure out what I didn’t like about it, and broke it down into its individual components:

Was it the dancing? – Perhaps.  I’ve never really liked dancing.  It’s always seemed to me that there is only a finite number of maneuvers one can make, and that the only way to make it more interesting is by putting more and more dancers on the stage.  (Unlike music, where the possibilities are endless.)  But that’s only my ignorance speaking… I know that there is certainly more to dance than meets my eye: passion, interaction, and so on.  I simply have never been able to appreciate it at all.  I suppose I’m just not sophisticated enough to appreciate it.  Or maybe I don’t know what to look for.  Regardless, I didn’t particularly like the dancing when I went to see Romeo and Juliet on Thursday evening.

 The music, by Sergei Prokofiev, was not particularly awe-inspiring either.  Although the melodies were undeniably original, the music in general did not inspire any strong emotions within me.  It struck me as shallow and meager.  Particularly jarring was the inclusion of a tenor saxophone in the ensemble.  It fit as well as a square peg fits into a circular hole.  (What in gods name was Prokofiev thinking when he put a tenor saxophone into a ballet?)  During one of the two intermissions, I began a conversation with the woman sitting next to me, who brought up an interesting point.  She told me that she’d always liked the music because “the melodies are whistle-able,” and that she always finds herself whistling the themes of Romeo and Juliet on her way out of the hall.  Although many would disagree with her – claiming that the musical value of a work involves so much more than its memorability — her opinion was quite valid.  In fact, I discovered it to be more than valid, as I began to whistle the tunes as I exited the concert hall as well!

What have I learned from this experience?  The ballet is for some, and not for others.  I suppose I’m just more of an “opera addict” than a “ballet buff”.  But the important thing is that I tried it.  This is all that I preach: have an open mind!  Take that leap of faith across the perilous chasm of musical ignorance!  Go to your first opera!  Go to your first ballet!  And if you don’t like it, at least you can say that you tried.

Avery Fisher Hall, NYC   —   June 20, 2007

Last night’s Strauss-Mahler program at Avery Fisher Hall featured the accomplished diva Deborah Voigt, and the New York Philharmonic, conducted by Lorin Maazel.  In the first half of the evening, we heard 4 short operatic pieces by Richard Strauss, followed by an even shorter encore.  The second half brandished Mahler’s Seventh Symphony, which unfortunately, was not as well received.

The night opened mysteriously with the song Befreit (”Set Free”), a melancholy yet tender piece of music.  Shifting between major and minor modes allowed Strauss to create a shadowy atmosphere, and coupled with Maazel’s expert instruction, the effect was astounding.  Deborah Voigt — looking wonderfully elegant – opened her heart to the audience, singing a soothing poem by Richard Dehmel.  Her voice glided across the concert hall, ripe with emotion.  Yet, the song was over in the blink of an eye: five minutes, more or less.  In fact all five of Strauss’s works were small tableaus, picturesque visions, rather than full-blown pieces.  The next song, Lied der Frauen (”Song of the Women”, the longest of the five, lasting 8 minutes) was furious and ominous, yet still smooth and flowing.  It was during this song that I took my first criticism: at times, the orchestra seemed to overpower Voigt.  This is not to say that Voigt’s tone was muddled, or that her delivery was weak.  The unbalance in volume was probably due to a combination of faults: perhaps Voigt’s projection was not her best, and perhaps the orchestra was a bit blaring.  Speaking as an orchestral performer — a french horn player — I can honestly say that it is easy to get caught up in the emotion of a piece, and consequently overplay.  With a piece as riotous and moving as Lied der Frauen, I can’t be too eager to deal out judgement.  The music rocked back and forth, like a raging storm, that finally calmed and concluded softly.  Next was the four-minute jewel, Morgen! or “Tomorrow!”.  It featured a violin-harp duo, with Voigt gliding amongst them.  The connection between the instrumental soloists and the diva faltered a bit though; at times it seemed as if the two weren’t absolutely in sync.  Connection is invaluable in an orchestra, especially when it is condensed into a pair of soloists.  This is not to say that the performances themselves weren’t flawless.  The violinist played astoundingly well, earning thunderous applause after the song.  Next to be performed was Fruhlingsfeier or “Celebration of Spring”.  To me, the piece seemed to be defined by flight.  Voigt, together with flute and piccolo soloists, gave wings to the entire orchestra, and with flawless intonation.  Maazel gave a clean, sudden ending to the song, leaving the audience awe-stricken, yet somewhat unsatisfied.  The piece, after all, was a mere 6 minutes long.  After all the excitement and anticipation of seeing Deborah Voigt onstage, I was pleased but unsatisfied.  For Voigt, this was quite a “short gig”.  The audience cried out in admiration, provoking another short yet beautiful encore, the song Zueignung.  This last song felt almost like a psalm — inspiring and powerful.

Now lets move on to the Mahler.  Before I begin, let me first explain that I am a Mahler-freak.  I believe that he was a living, breathing god of music.  And yet, I had never actually heard his seventh symphony until this concert.  I was practically holding my breath before it started.  Despite my excitement, I was able to continue writing my notes during the performance.

The symphony was in five movements; each movement is said to symbolize the progression from dawn to dusk, giving the piece its unofficial title, Song of the Night.  Mahler saw this to be a false name, and frankly, so do I.  The five-part symphony was so spontaneous, and even humorous, that I had trouble consolidating it into one whole image.  The symphony began mysteriously, featuring a tenor horn solo (very odd and revolutionary, especially for Mahler’s time) that was executed perfectly but still felt a bit out of place.  I noticed a high concentration on melody — signature of Mahlerian music.  Maazel and the New York Philharmonic are hardly strangers to Mahler by now; his style was well recognized, and seemed natural to the performers and the conductor.  Not only the tenor horn, but rather the whole brass section played flawlessly, and Mahler’s high concentration on brass made the symphony seem heavy, weighed down.  It was almost theatrical.  The music passed between the brass section and the string / woodwind sections, a transition that was urged along by Maazel’s insistent conducting.  The orchestra applied grace and passion at all the right moments, yet something greater was amiss within the performance: the constant, relentless melodies lacked direction.  Sometimes, there was no clear destination, just an endless horizon, making the piece seem long and somewhat burdensome.  It seemed as if Mahler used his seventh symphony to play around with different effects (oh, what a revolutionary he was…)  The symphony seemed almost like an experiment — Mahler’s chemistry set, if you will.

Much to my dismay, quite a few members of the audience walked out during Mahler’s Seventh.  Here’s the bottom line: although I enjoyed the Mahler, I must admit that it was harder to appreciate than most of his other symphonies.