August 22 & 23 - Repeat Recitals at the St. Paul Conservatory of Music
I take my mission very seriously - it plays into every decision I make regarding the concert experience, from the layout of the program booklet to my last bow on stage. These recitals at the Saint Paul Conservatory of Music justify every bead of sweat that goes into making my mission a reality.
I devoted the first half of the program to representations of and reactions to war, as seen in piano music during the last 200 years. I personally was affected by the juxtaposition of music – it’s amazing to see how perceptions have changed over time - and I reacted viscerally to the onslaught of sound. More than ever, I felt chills while performing "Sheep May Safely Graze" (Bach) after having just made my way through hell, experienced a "suicide in an airplane" (Ornstein), and lamented the loss of friends who died in combat (Ravel). The biggest struggle of the evening was the first piece on the program, Viguerie's The Battle of Maringo, composed in 1804. The piece is shockingly difficult to pull off effectively. While the technical difficulties and overall mediocrity of the piece certainly didn't help my cause, I did my best; and thanks to my narrator (Peter Kirwin) and various canon detonators, I think the result was actually something to remember!
To contrast the gravitas of the first half, I devoted the second half to the topic of "Drift." As Bruce Mau stated in Life Style: "Drift. Allow yourself to wander aimlessly. Explore adjacencies. Lack judgment. Postpone criticism." It's certainly a difficult concept to convey to an audience, particularly to those who aren't in the mood to "drift," but I was very happy with the result. With so many competitions out there (from international piano competitions to American Idol) audience members have been trained to listen critically, and it's surprisingly easy to lose touch with the simple joys of music. I designed this half to remind audience members of why we fell in love with music in the first place.
Between the two evenings, we found 11 different audience participants on stage producing canon fires, announcing saber blows, riding log flumes, eating gold, and detailing the indigestion of octopuses. Thank you to the two sold-out crowds of enthusiastic and diverse music listeners. The concerts wouldn't have been the same without you.
I had a ball.
I devoted the first half of the program to representations of and reactions to war, as seen in piano music during the last 200 years. I personally was affected by the juxtaposition of music – it’s amazing to see how perceptions have changed over time - and I reacted viscerally to the onslaught of sound. More than ever, I felt chills while performing "Sheep May Safely Graze" (Bach) after having just made my way through hell, experienced a "suicide in an airplane" (Ornstein), and lamented the loss of friends who died in combat (Ravel). The biggest struggle of the evening was the first piece on the program, Viguerie's The Battle of Maringo, composed in 1804. The piece is shockingly difficult to pull off effectively. While the technical difficulties and overall mediocrity of the piece certainly didn't help my cause, I did my best; and thanks to my narrator (Peter Kirwin) and various canon detonators, I think the result was actually something to remember!
To contrast the gravitas of the first half, I devoted the second half to the topic of "Drift." As Bruce Mau stated in Life Style: "Drift. Allow yourself to wander aimlessly. Explore adjacencies. Lack judgment. Postpone criticism." It's certainly a difficult concept to convey to an audience, particularly to those who aren't in the mood to "drift," but I was very happy with the result. With so many competitions out there (from international piano competitions to American Idol) audience members have been trained to listen critically, and it's surprisingly easy to lose touch with the simple joys of music. I designed this half to remind audience members of why we fell in love with music in the first place.
Between the two evenings, we found 11 different audience participants on stage producing canon fires, announcing saber blows, riding log flumes, eating gold, and detailing the indigestion of octopuses. Thank you to the two sold-out crowds of enthusiastic and diverse music listeners. The concerts wouldn't have been the same without you.
I had a ball.
Labels: interaction, programming, recital
1 Comments:
The Programming Design
This concert was brilliantly thought out. While to the audiences of Viguerie and Chopin, battle was still something dramatic and noble, and combat was still mainly up front and personal (accompanied by cannons of course too--something you cleverly used to draw in the non-musician a.k.a. audience volunteer), once World War I occurred with its incipient carnage and long-distance brutality (I'm thinking of the recent revival in New York City, Journey's End--which radically questioned the validity of international violence), war was seen through different eyes (among those--the eyes blinded forever--along with the clouded spirits w/in--by mustard gas and shrapnel).
After WWI, music written for the masses shifted in tone to mirror the growing disillusionment with warfare, and so you have the Ornstein piece (which is interesting because it's not titled "Battle in an Airplane" or "Bombing the Crap out of Others from an Airplane" but "Suicide in an Airplane"). (I wish I remembered more from this portion of the evening's program to dissect its musical interests.)
(By the way, did Ornstein really live for 110 years?)
The Ravel mourns the dead rather than celebrating their exploits on the battlefield, and the Ligeti title ("The Devil's Staircase") speaks for itself. Its feeling of entrapment was a riveting contrast to the pure, stationary bass line in Bach's "Sheep May Safely Graze," the almost spine-tingling metaphor which, to end with was, I think, brilliant in that the composer's wish for peace not only brings us chronologically full circle but also ironically carries us into the future. We live in a world where most of us anyway (Muslims excluded) do wish for a place where sheep may safely graze and where we can live free from the fear of terrorists and the kind of wide-spread violence only a post-nuclear, post-911 age could imagine.
The drift section lets us "rest" from the fierceness of war and its negative energy, and float through gorgeous sound. Very cool. Float and laugh ("Jackasses") and just enjoy. It heals instead of wounds.
The Actual Virtuosity of the Performance
This appeared to be a very physically challenging program, designed to showcase the merit and the proficiency of your studies. There were dozens of beautiful musical moments, the performance choices were intellectually stimulating, new "adjacencies" were enjoyed, and the entire evening was marvelously entertaining.
Commentary on the Commentary
This was a big part of the recital. Not only for the historical background you provided or for the pause in between the music-making, but for the juicy details which made for charming expose and was extremely helpful for people who don't come to concerts with a either a musical and/or musical-historical knowledge base from which to draw. To communicate in this way was very clever because you were not only informing /educating your audience, but you were bonding with them not just as a performer, but as a friend as it were. That style was endearing. I enjoyed your personal commentary as well (I was sad to hear of Ligeti's recent death), not for reading aloud what was printed in the program, and for the zest with which you presented your material.
I can assure you I've not had as delightful a recital experience in several years.
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