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Tag Archives: Lorin Maazel

The venerable Lorin Maazel was in town again at the helm of the Boston Symphony Orchestra (BSO), in the final night of their performances of Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, and Scriabin. I have been a bit absent from writing up the last two performances of the BSO that I’ve attended because I have been writing at work for the last few months.

Tchaikovsky’s Suite No. 3 is something like — but not quite — a symphony, a peculiar type of piece. Perhaps because I am not familiar with the form, it was difficult for me to get an overarching sense of the music. Individual movements, especially the somewhat ironically malaise waltz, were certainly reminiscent of the Russian composer’s more famous symphonic works. Perhaps the most easily associated music were the often grand variations on the theme in the final movement.

I have to admit that my familiarity with Stravinsky’s music, though growing, is not even characterizable as elementary. Of the work of his I’ve heard, I can say off the top of my head that I enjoyed Petrushka. Today, the BSO performed Stravinsky’s Song of the Nightingale. I enjoyed the immediately recognizable Chinese theme early on but was not particularly compelled by the piece as a whole.

And finally, in my first experience hearing the music of Alexander Scriabin via The Poem of Ecstasy, I waited in eager anticipation for the bellowing of the Symphony Hall organ. Seated in the orchestra section, Row E and almost all the way to the audience left of the stage, I happened to have been perfectly placed to watch the organist — whose name I could not locate in the program — wait patiently throughout the majority of the piece before his bars appeared. Unfortunately, their effect was more of a massive thunder whose melody was lost from my vantage point in the cacophony of the bellowing orchestra: I could not place any sort of unique timbre reminiscent of my experiences with church organs and the like. I should have liked to hear the organ alone, but I believe that this was my first concert at Symphony Hall at which the organ was employed.

The last two concerts in the subscription series have had somewhat odd programming to me. It has been difficult to understand any underlying theme, probably due to my lack of familiarity with the music. One interesting note for this concert series was that in Maazel’s second week with the BSO, in 1960, they performed both the Stravinsky and the Scriabin. I believe that this is the first time since then that he has performed these two pieces again here in the same performance, which marks a special moment in my mind that ties together his history performing with this orchestra. That is a truly long engagement to Nevertheless, as always the exposure to new music is endlessly intriguing, and as always, I’m grateful for the opportunity.

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.

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