Singularly Intimate Ardor Flirtingly Revealed

I start at the end of Friday's concert with the composition freshest on my mind, the Carmen melodies I'm humming outside the concert hall, and all the way home. With the Bizet Carmen Suite we see and hear the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra at their very best. They shine in this setting and excel in the undistilled triumphant symphonic form. To me Carmen is a succinct set of voices that reach out and grab the listener, distinctly and clearly telling a story. 

Juraj Valčuha, with his softly waving baton, lead the orchestra seamlessly, and yet I could experience his distinct style, with the way he would single out single sets of musicians to enunciate a selection, or how he congealed the whole orchestra as a robust amalgamation, it was an enthusiastic highlight to the proceeding. I experienced the complete dynamic extent of the talented orchestra.

The live concert venue reaches more deeply the fidelity of the music. My ears extend their listening capacity, I experience no signal loss, no degradation. Heart, soul, full body - these things no electronic speakers can ever achieve, these are the multiple dimensional aspects I fully hear, see and feel at Heinz Hall with the PSO. 

I also contemplate a certain fascination in the reincarnation of the animate karma of these notes, printed as a score on paper a century before. These talented symphony musicians and conductor simply dust off the old manuscript, imbibe their magic and voilà, the music comes alive. The Carmen was a perfect ending to this fantastic evening. 

Backing up a notch, I consider the Tchaikovsky Romeo & Juliet Suite: The title says it all to anyone familiar with Shakespeare's play, but isn't it a tragedy? Oh that I could forget the programmatic context and re-hear this beautiful composition in a vacuum, but not literally. Like rewinding the clock to the first time, and playing again, without the title, without the intro, without words, only sounds, hearing again for the first time. Then perhaps the emotions could quickly stir, and creativity would spark - further onrushing impressions would be forged without bias or foreknowledge. And I could describe my thoughts in that incubator, with only the pure music to hear. Then, if it were possible, rewind and do it all over again, if only to compare, to heuristically compare notes with myself.

But alas, it cannot be so, I cannot forget all that prior knowledge, yet I allude my impressions in a bottle, a suspension of foreknowledge for only a moment. The sounds are incredible, yet inexorably Tchaikovsky-like, with bits and pieces of 1812 and some Symphonies thrown in for good measure. The melody is amazing. Then the orchestra goes wild as if some tempest is let loose in order to menace the simple melody. And even after recapitulation the tawdry storm takes stronger hold and will not be denied. 

But in the intermezzo a softer part briefly emerges. My favorite part. Its not a melody nor cacophony of storm. Instead, a quiet storm to stir my soul. Whispered oboe sounds juxtaposed to harp, all wrapped in softly speaking strings. The proverbial eye of the storm. Exiting that eye we come full circle; eventually the tempest concludes. I am not sure the extent of devastation. Yet now begins a new aspect, a final tribute unlike the rest. A conclusion of sorts to assure us all of our destined happy ending.

My moment has passed and my suspension of prior programmatic knowledge is over. I suppose the tragic end to the love story of Romeo and Juliet was rewritten in the ending provided by Tchaikovsky. This time maybe it deserves a happy ending.

Now I backup to the beginning of the evening and the opening notes of the first selection. Lush rolling waves of gentle soul, as if breaking in my dreams, enunciate a perfect transference upon my eardrums, eliciting vibrating waves that ramble aimfully through my mind, developing a purely profound union of meaning. Thus begins the Tristin und Istolde Prelude und Liebestod by Richard Wagner.

It is a sturdy cacophony replete with  waving baton, or else a measured gravitational series of waves that roll ceaselessly over my senses, caressing the very depths of my being. Either or, it makes no difference, it is anxiously perceived.

In my minds eye I imagine a subtle smile detected, with long flowing hair flung opulently as if to obscure my concentrated view, but not in a direct line of flight to the ensemble, but rather a subtle diversion reaching from within the orchestra's core competency, softly mixing harmonic elegy to show an ardor flirtingly revealed.

A temporal dilemma arises, hitherto redacted prose replete with singularly intimate imbalance replenishes softly my consummate repose. Already scribed with abundance, the text remains. Hearing quiet sounds, the concert continues, no need to amplify, my conscience returns in ample abundance.

The love story is still building, ever longing, building, longing the way it was intended in the opera, the way it has always been. Is it a splendid tragedy? No, it's ever my immortal hearing of a beautiful love told in music which never fails to send shivers through my soul

Next,I find that Dvořák's cello concerto as an interesting juxtaposition.  Exchanges traded between soloist and orchestra act as a subtle diversion to the music. Pausing between phrases, Joshua Roman looks back from his cello in recognition of the well-done part of the players, his head shaking with the rhythm. I perceive the voice as cello, cello voice, as a woman, full bodied, desirable. Rolling, ambling with the flute, loudly vibrating strings, swift and pure, and Interplay with horns accentuate my appreciation for orchestra and soloist.

 The encore by Joshua Roman is excellent in its clarity and harmonic form. I believe the composer is J. S. Bach based on the sound and form. Searching youtube, I notice that Mr. Roman likes to perform on rooftops in big cities or in front of a koi pond or similar unique venues. It's a distinguishing characteristic. After searching a bit more I believe his encore may have been Bach Cello Suite no. 1.