Skip navigation

Monthly Archives: November 2009

Bienvenue, Saint-Saens

I was fortunate enough to see two performances of the same program, a rare treat for me at the Boston Symphony Orchestra. I went for college card tickets on both the Thursday night and Saturday night performances of last week. The BSO played Arthur Honegger’s Pastorale d’Été, Camille Saint-Saëns’ Piano Concerto No. 2, and Igor Stravinsky’s Petrushka. In truth, I came for the Petrushka and stayed for the Saint-Saëns, having the least of hopes for the Honegger, since I was not aware of him until Thursday night. A symphony friend CB and I met at 10 am outside the box office in anticipation of the college card tickets on Thursday, and we were met by a surprisingly long line. The Salvation Army donations guy was out in front of Symphony Hall, which we commented seemed to be occurring earlier and earlier each year. Even with his single tone bell, I immediately recognized the rhythm as that of Jingle Bells. If you sang along with it in your head, as I am sure the Salvation Army’s handbell soloist was, it didn’t sound too bad after all. His virtuoso performance outside the hall reminded me of my middle school days, when I would tap the WIlliam Tell Overture with my four-and-two fingers on the table. It dawned on me then that perhaps no one else could hear the melody in the tapping, and I tried to decouple my tapping with the actual sound I was hearing. I listened hard to hear only taps, but the ever familiar melody always played softly in the background.

For some reason, the box office was allowing everyone to get two college card tickets, so we both got two tickets each, in hopes of corralling others to join us that evening. It’s a surprisingly lofty proposition, to find people I know who want to go experience one of the world’s best symphony orchestras in one of the most amazing concert halls in the world, for free. In fact, we both failed in finding people to accompany us, so we decided to hold onto her pair of tickets, which gave us a great view of the solo pianist during the Saint-Saëns. I had a Fenway Park moment outside the box office just before the show, as I desperately tried to find someone who was looking for tickets but did not have them. I was hoping to give them to someone who would not normally go to the symphony, reminiscent of a photo of a man outside the hall with a sign, Desperate for Tickets. I finally found a pair of college students who had just been turned away from the box office who were very grateful and hopefully enjoyed the show.

With no expectations for the Pastorale d’Été, I settled in for the piece comfortably, and after what was a pretty long day, I found it to be perfectly peaceful and quit a fitting tribute to its namesake of the summer season. The free laziness of summer was captured in the long legato tones of the winds and strings. It is a happy piece, a fitting tribute to a season that, at least for this year, has come and gone.

The featured soloist for the Saint-Saëns Piano Concerto No. 2 was 21-year-old Lise de la Salle, someone whom I had not heard of, and since I did not know the music of Saint-Saëns save the Carnival of Animals, I was not terribly eager for this piece. The first movement of the piece, which numbers among CB’s favorites, is dramatic and serious, a dark contrast with the Pastorale. I found de la Salle’s playing to be quite compelling, though I did feel in a few phrases that she probably could have coaxed even more intensity from the Steinway and Sons. The subsequent movements contained small musical jokes and grand musical gestures, exploring the ranges of human emotion with ease. The piece was executed brilliantly, and her maturity in young adulthood was evident. In addition, I found in Saint-Saëns a composer whose work excites me almost as much as his contemporary from the Romantic period and perhaps my favorite composer Johannes Brahms. I have already begun my exploration into his work and found several pieces that may become part of my standard listening repertoire.

The Piano Concerto far overshadowed my expectations for Stravinsky’s Petrushka, a nice piece for a ballet that felt at time confusing, perhaps since it was meant to accompany the missing dancers. Perhaps I will get a chance to see it performed to heighten my appreciation of it. The experience reminded me of my first listen of the soundtrack to the French film noir Ascenseur Pour L’Échafaud, which is improvised by Miles Davis and his trio as Davis watched the scenes of the film. Hearing the soundtrack first, I had no reference point for the music, and while it was all fine, watching the film with the music deepened my understanding and appreciation of the music. (The film is in my top five favorites.)

When I heard of the college card tickets that were released on Saturday morning, I knew I wanted to go see de la Salle perform the Saint-Saëns again. I was treated to the calming Honegger and thoroughly enjoyed the piano concerto, now having some familiarity with the piece. It was similar in more ways than one, as de la Salle appeared to have on the same dress as the Thursday performance! I cannot recall if I noted this in Janine Jansen and Alisa Weilerstein when I saw them perform the Brahms Double Concerto this year, but I did liken de la Salle’s attire to that of some kind of musical superhero with closets full of the same blue dress. I came away from this week with a respect for Honegger, a hope for future Stravinsky, and an excitement to explore the music of Camille Saint-Saëns further.

The most musical of chairs

I was late to Symphony Hall this afternoon, since I wasn’t ever really sure I was going to try to acquire one of the “very limited” rush tickets to today’s Celebrity Series performance featuring the Berliner Philharmoniker with Sir Simon Rattle at the helm. But I found myself at the end of a longish line, with cash in hand and hope diminishing. Talking with the German medical students behind me, we decided my lack of optimism was likely warranted, since an upset patron stormed out of the box office with the bad news that all rush tickets had gone. When one waits in line with some expectation of being able to see a performance, value estimations change dramatically. Waiting in line for rush tickets is our version of sniping stuff on eBay: at the last minute we’re willing to justify certain increases in price. In my own head, I was willing to go considerably higher since I felt that I’ve had a history of amazing deals in the $0 to $14 range. When the announcement came that there were no more rush tickets, we were waiting to see if perhaps limited leg room tickets would be available. After one experience in these jump seats ($14), I am far more willing to go up to the next price level, but it was very nice to hear people who wanted nothing more than to be inside Symphony Hall, at any expense, to be present for the Berliner Philharmoniker. One of the German students made the comment that she had never seen them in Berlin, and we found it funny that she would try to see an orchestra from her country during her five week stay in Boston. Almost cruelly, the caravan of luxury buses with the musicians pulled up to Symphony Hall, and a photographer snapped our photos as we waited in the line.

As people in front of and behind us started to leave the line, we moved up and waited patiently for any information on a general sell out, which would not have been surprising for this concert. For a moment it seemed that our persistence paid off in quite an unexpected way when they announced that more rush tickets had been made available. There were twenty, apparently, and approximately as many people in front of us. We were still not guaranteed a ticket but eventually prevailed in a big way — some of the medical students got T row orchestra tickets, while the others and I had C row orchestra seats.

Two hours later, we returned to Symphony Hall, and it would be my first time seeing an orchestra other than the Boston Symphony Orchestra perform there. As the musicians filtered onto the stage, applause filled the hall, which does not happen for the BSO musicians’ entrance. The concertmaster, an older, grizzly man with a goatee, came onto stage traditionally after the orchestra were seated, and he led the tuning. As Rattle appeared from the stage right door (nearly all conductors of the BSO enter stage left), I had the unique opportunity to see him quite close. The fluffs of gray hair bobbed around his expressive and appreciative face as he bowed graciously to an eager audience applause. He pretty much appeared exactly as pictured on his box sets.

My neighbor at today’s concert, a physics graduate student at MIT and amateur violinist, asked me what the best seat in the hall was. I may have mentioned before, but the best seat in my opinion is a virtual one, located some 20 feet above the middle of the orchestra level seats, dead center, with an unobstructed line to the stage and completely enveloped in pure sound pressure and reverberations. Other than that, the experience varies considerably between different seats in the hall. I always liken the closer perspective as the perfect headphones, where seats at the back of the hall are more like the perfect speakers. They are two completely legitimate experiences of the music, but they are vastly different. In row C, we were clearly in perfect headphones territory, unlike my previous experience with a Brahms symphony at the BSO. The farther away from center, the smaller the soundstage becomes, and the closer to the stage, the more “artificial” it seems at times.

I prefer grand symphonies and large orchestra works from the best seats in the house: middle orchestra, fairly far from the stage. Featured soloists playing as part of concertos are also experienced well here, of course, but I love the up close, intimate views of them from the first few rows and slightly stage right. While I’ve never been in the first balcony seats near the stage, I suspect these offer a unique visual perspective but nothing particularly unique aurally. In truth, there are only a handful of “bad” seats at Symphony Hall (jump seats and the ones behind the pole), and even these grant you access to hear the amazing music constantly being produced there live.

Today would be an afternoon of Brahms, to be sure, but an Arnold Schoenberg piece made a brief appearance between Symphonies No. 3 and 4. The Schoenberg was some sort of film music, apparently, and what I have to say of it is this: I have never been more appreciative of program notes that print the approximate duration of the piece (in this case, 8 minutes).

I have heard but cannot claim familiarity with the 3rd Symphony, but it was, in true Brahms style, intense and rich. This group of musicians were different from my beloved BSO in many ways. Cosmetically, all the men had colored ties on, where I remember them all uniform in the BSO. More substantially, I noted that their entire orchestra seemed to be comfortable allowing the music to move them. The entire orchestra almost swayed in visual concert, something that is not a part of our orchestra’s style. Once in awhile our first stand will express their absorption in the music, but it is a rather rare occurrence. On several passages, Rattle did not seem to be giving the orchestra any rhythmic or dynamic cues, leaving them to their own self-organization. Among the group of professional musicians, Rattle seemed to serve as even their confidence as he coaxed more and more sound out of them and also encouraged restraint when necessary. Between each piece, the members of the orchestra switched positions, which happens infrequently at the BSO; generally the night’s seating in a given section stays the way it is.

Symphony No. 4 is the piece that really opened my ears to Brahms, when the BSO performed it earlier this year. From the beautiful theme of the intense first movement, to the wild and dramatic finale, it’s an experience that’s difficult to match. The scope of No. 4 ranges from playful to serious, and the Berliner Philharmoniker executed it brilliantly. I must admit that there’s a special place in my heart for the BSO’s performance of it, but I also don’t know the piece well enough to really discern the differences. Both experiences were emotionally fulfilling, and I’m very grateful to have seen such an esteemed conductor and orchestra within the wonderful acoustics of Symphony Hall.

The majesty of the human voice

There was definitely something about the performance of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony by the BSO that was destined to be special. There’s always an energy in the air surrounding an eagerly anticipated live performance, and from the moment I was in line for rush tickets, an hour before the ticket sales in dreary conditions, I had a sense that it would be a special night.

I actually enjoy rush line conversations, because they have so far been invariably amusing, and I’ve had the chance to meet some very interesting people. This time, I was flanked by two beautiful women, but one was looking around eagerly for someone with earbuds in her ears, and one behind me was studying her buzz-off medical flashcards. And so I read my book. The boyfriend did arrive, and this presented a tricky etiquette situation of Rush Line Tickets. There are a limited number of tickets available — 100 per show — and clearly this was a big performance, since the line started forming well over an hour before the rush tickets are sold. If you save a place for someone, that really might mean that someone around place 100 doesn’t get a seat, despite having waited in line for such a long time. But the civility that generally marks the symphony crowd prevailed here, as the couple descended to the back of the line, advancing me one place (this is important). I ended up talking to a very nice gentleman who was a businessman from New Hampshire who traded MFA stories with me (who else can I do that with?). I also knew to be nice to the girl behind me, since she would end up sitting next to me during the concert. (It’s not that I was planning on being rude or something.)

Anyhow, while I was finding my seat later that evening, I had a funny feeling about my seat, and it never dawned on me to look on the ticket for the words “partially obstructed view.” The feeling I had was that I was sitting right behind one of the large pillars in the rear of the orchestra section! Avoid seat QQ27 at all costs. There are other, similar seats that afford a lovely view of a cylindrical stone column, on which I suggest they draw an outline of the orchestra so you don’t stare at the pole all evening. It’s a good thing I was friendly to the girl behind me, since I probably intruded slightly on her personal space trying to get a view. Actually, I think I’m the perfect patron for that seat, since I’m not inclined to complain about being there for $9 and because I am there for the aural experience far, far more than the visual one. I can be outside the hall and still have a good time.

The notable difference on the stage was that the choir rafters were set up for the 9th Symphony. It would mark the first time I heard the human voice project in Symphony Hall, and like all the other symphonies save No. 5, I was not terribly familiar with the entire piece. Of course every burgeoning violin student who plays in any youth orchestra is bound to encounter Ode To Joy, but it was nothing like this.

In sequential order, the BSO started with Symphony No. 8, and true to the observation, it was a lighthearted even numbered Beethoven symphony, with a pleasant theme. My new symphony friend KVS noted that our esteemed guest conductor, Lorin Maazel, was not too distracting in his movements, which she appreciated. I can go either way, honestly, and like seeing the variety of styles in composers. No. 8 is short, which makes for a good program partner with No. 9, which is somewhat epic in scope.

As the choir filtered on stage in single file, I got a bit excited at the prospect of hearing that instrument for the first time. The choir always looks larger than the space reserved for the group, and they would prove to be a powerful, singular voice. Four chairs were reserved in front of Maazel for the four soloists that Beethoven required. The Egg was never more a fitting crown on the stage than in this configuration of musicians on stage.

From the first choral note to the end, I could not help but grin stupidly at the magnificence of the projection of the human voice throughout the hall. It managed to find even me, in the partially obstructed seat, in glorious praise to music. I have witnessed no finer exaltation than the combination of song in Symphony Hall. While I’m always impressed with the ability of non-mechanical amplification in the form of the contrived physics of instruments such as the violin, piano, or horn, the nature-created human voice has yet to be matched note-for-note by our clever engineering. I’m singularly impressed.

At some point, during one of the more popular songs, I was secretly hoping for an audience singalong reminiscent of the scene in the film Amadeus during a performance of Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte. If I were ever certain it would be well received at Symphony Hall, I’d be right in the middle of that. There was an element of completeness missing from the evening since I had missed out on performances of 6 and 7, but there was also a perfect finality of witnessing the 9th for the first time live, having heard Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 8 in the last few weeks. While I was very impressed and thankful for Maazel’s last minute guest appearance, I do hope that our very own James Levine is recovering well and returns to his swivel chair on stage soon.

Beethoven’s Third and Fourth, Twice

I think the most performances I’ve seen in a calendar week has been about three. I was definitely toeing that line during the recent BSO performances of the Beethoven symphony cycle, but I decided not to attend the Friday evening and Saturday evening performances of 6 and 7, because they were a little more expensive than I would have liked (but still not expensive, I should note). The Tuesday and Thursday performances featured Associate Conductor Julian Kuerti, whom I liked, as he led the BSO in Symphonies 3 and 4. They started with the lighter No. 4, which I enjoyed more at Tuesday’s show than I did on Thursday, where I sensed the superficiality in its themes. While the Eroica is certainly the better-known of the two, I was not at all familiar with it on Tuesday but definitely enjoyed its magnificence at Thursday’s show, with a symphony buddy AB. I went from Tuesday, preferring 4 to Eroica, to Thursday, definitely understanding why Eroica is more well known.

One funny observation about rush tickets came up while waiting in line for these performances. While I actually ended up with college card tickets on Thursday, the guy in front of us at the box office was also getting a college card ticket. They’re usually given out in sequential order, which made me refrain from commenting on the guy’s inside-out shirt (he was BU student based on the ID). We would eventually be seated next to him, though he didn’t show up until the performance of the 3rd symphony and then proceeded to follow the first movement before falling asleep for the rest of the piece. The observation that I’d be sitting next to the person in line is well known to me from previous rush ticket experience, but this is one of the few times that it might have had awkward consequences.

I will catch 6 and 7 when they are performed again later in this season, complete with rush ticket options. Since seeing 8 and 9 performed, I’ve now had the pleasure of hearing nearly all of the Beethoven symphonies performed by the BSO in a single season, which is the first opportunity to have done so since 1934! I’m not going to lie, that’s pretty cool.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.