One weekend, it's Jackson Browne and on the following night, The Waifs. This past weekend we had Bach and Buxtehude -I had a grown-up student, a baritone, performing- and then a delightful concert on Sunday afternoon by the American Philharmonic Orchestra, all the way up in Santa Rosa.
Because I've been contracted to sing in the professional premiere of The Lion and the Rose, composed by music director and Maestro Gabriel Sakakeeny, it seemed prudent to take a listen to understand what I was getting myself into! The sound from this eighty plus band was lush and absolutely satisfying. What concerns I had were assuaged by the warmth of the sound and the joy emanating from everyone on stage. Gabriel and I go way back, and to know that we will be collaborating again in something I happily anticipate. I really want to sing with this orchestra!
The Lion and the Rose, based on an allegory of the resurrection theme in the C. S. Lewis genre, is a lyrical- modern composition. Since I am working off the conductor's score while I await the piano-vocal reduction, every nuance is not yet clear to me, but it looks lovely. The composer has generously offered to reshape, as he said, any bits to accommodate me. How gracious. I wonder if this is the way Aloysia Weber felt when Mozart responded to her requests?
Not to draw too tight a comparison here by any means. Ms. Weber, Wolfie's sister-in-law, was an absolute goddess, but she comes to mind because I know her work so intimately in my repertoire. Also, I have occasioned a few times the opportunity of preforming a new work, or been asked to ornament or otherwise alter parts of a chestnut; something they call innovation, but I call...oh, never mind.
To be honest, there was one hideous time, a moment which I have tried to erase from a memory still haunted. I got stuck with a perfectly wretched piece by a composer too vain or perhaps insecure to understand that much of what she had written was simply un-singable. She knew music, but she did not know how to write for voices. These people are hazards, and in refusing to listen to the singers, they find that the premiere is often the finale of their composition.
Back to The Lion and the Rose. May Sarton wrote a mystical poem which is reflected well in the score. Born in Belgium, Ms. Sarton arrived with her family in the United States at the tender age of three. Her initial pull was to the theatre, but she found her fulfillment in prosody, prose and non-fiction. Interestingly, there are no plays or adaptations amongst her published works. She enjoyed association with Harvard and Wellesley, and as an open lesbian, worked for homosexual rights. May Sarton passed way in 1995 after a long illness.
My boys and I took in the American Philharmonic Orchestra for a programme of twentieth century music. I was unfamiliar with the first piece, Atmospheres, a trippy flight through the cosmos to the time before time by Romanian composer Gygory Ligeti (1923-2006). For you linguists, there ought to be an umlaut over the "o," but I seem to have run out and must restock.
Atmospheres is a work of magnificent beauty. As with many of his contemporaries, Rigeti employs novel applications of instrumentation to create both harmony and dissonance. The result is aurally and spiritually transformative. After the final cadence, if one could call it that, there was left a broad swath of space before the audience exhaled. Those are the magical moments performers so enjoy! Call it the cool factor. Applause was tentative while the listener shifted back into the temporal, and grew as the realization of what had been experienced settled into the listener.
The second work was the beloved Piano Concerto in G by Maurice Ravel (1875-1937). This was Ravel's final orchestral work, completed just six years before his death in Paris following experimental brain surgery. The procedure was anticipated to affect relief from the composer's dementia, thought to have evolved following a traffic accident some years before.
Guest artist Stephen Prutzman gave a joyful, often whimsical performance, at times conducting the orchestra behind the Maestro's back with his head and body language. What could have been an intrusion instead lent charm and some theatricality which was in keeping with the feel of the piece. Ravel's derivations and quotations were intended to shape a light-hearted feel to the Concerto, and in Prutsman, Ravel had a perfect enabler. Prutzman's musicality, his slightly naughty boyishness, and consummate musicianship all worked together to provide a pleasurable performance.
Perhaps it is my city-girl sensibility and education, but I cannot avoid the annoyance I feel over audiences which still do not understand that applause between movements goes against convention. This old-school rule has not remained a custom to rob the enthusiastic listener of expressing joy and appreciation. Rather, the pauses between movements serve two purposes in my thinking, possibly more, and those are to allow the audience to reflect on the previous movement and to just...feel. The quiet space between movements provides an important transitional time for the musician. Time to shift mood or even make mechanical adjustments. Time to breathe and center oneself. That last last bit is important for the listener as well. I don't know the answer to educating an audience without risking offense.
The American Philharmonic Orchestra's final work was Stravinsky's sensually raucous Rite of Spring (Le Sacre du printemps). So much has been written of this piece. I will leave you to your research. Stravinsky is a passion of mine. When I listen to Rite of Spring, or sing Les Noces or perform The Rake's Progress, I experience pleasure of a depth which overtakes me physically, mentally and spiritually. The music is carnal and erotically rough, and I am always left feeling satisfaction similar to a good reckless romp. That this piece was initially scandalous is easily understood. That repressed post-Victorian people were attracted to such scandal is telling of human nature. The story is base, violent and sexual; those very things people find so fascinating.
The orchestra was superb. Exhilarating and exhilarated. This was a stunning performance by players who were certainly up to the task. Maestro Sakakeeny, himself a talented tympanist, let his percussion section have at it. The result was a performance full of the sort of passion I imagine Stravinsky would have loved.
Sakakeeny's programming was brilliant. He led us from the sublime sensuality of the Ligeti to the sweet joy of the Ravel, and into the dark sexuality of the Stravinsky. Sunday's performance of The American Philharmonic was a journey through three related levels of human expression, all threaded together into one complete package.
4 Comment(s).
Bravenet Blog 
Blog Community
Get a Free Blog
Manage your Blog
bravenet.com