The Incontrovertible Legend of Zelda with subtle and infrequent references to Link

I blog because to me it is important to share the beauty of classical music with as many people as I can reach. In this instance I expect most of the concert goers were in their teens or twenties, yet I was there.

I've had many great experiences listening to the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra at Heinz Hall - all of the concerts are fascinating and fun. The Legend of Zelda: Symphony of the Goddesses is no exception - in fact the 'fun factor' is significantly heightened by the programatic format of the video game theme. The symphony itself is really amazing - I believe it can stand on it's own as a piece of the classical repertoire without the need to add the 'fun' aspect of video screens and commentary, yet I don't deny that this program as it was presented offered a lot.

Many of the Legend of Zelda/Link games are familiar to me because my daughter plays the videos all the time on her somewhat ancient GameCube and before that on the GameBoy DS. I've watched her play, and have always liked the music in the game especially some of the very familiar melodies. In symphonic form the music really stands out.

Irish conductor Eímear Noone lead the PSO. Ms. Noone was very good - always with a smile which simply made me smile as well. Before the second movement she interrupted to change batons, this time it was a very special baton: The Wind Waker or baton of Wind in which the main character named 'Link' (for those of you who don't know) used it to conduct in that game of the same name. Here it was made real as the Ms. Noone used it to conduct the movement dedicated to that particular version of the Legend of Zelda.

This begs the question: Why is it called 'Legend of Zelda' and not 'Legend of Link'? Which I ask my daughter all the time because you see Link all the time in the game, and hardly ever see Zelda.

There were four movements, and three encores, every one a treat.

“Zelda: Symphony of the Goddesses,” is a musical tribute to the history of Zelda and the great scores composed by Koji Kondo. The concert, directed by Irish conductor Eímear Noone, works with local musicians in each town to put together an entire orchestra to play the show.

Some good reviews:
http://tech.mit.edu/V132/N15/zelda.html
http://www.wired.com/geekdad/2012/05/symphony-of-the-goddesses/

The printed program offered at Heinz Hall was rather slim with respect to information on the symphony. What I was looking for was information not only on Koji Kondo, but on perhaps who else might have aided in orchestrating the music from the games into this fabulous symphony, or was it totally attributable to Koji Kondo? I searched the internet in vain, not able to glean the information I desired. If anyone knows more please leave a comment.

Here's a video review that's very revealing:

The Legend of Zelda Symphony of the Goddesses Experience

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNsfs3nm4p0

"If this is coming to your city you have to see it -- it's incredible"

With this I agree!

Hammerschlag and Heinz Hall's 40th

When I went to Carnegie Mellon I spent much of my time in Hammerschlag Hall, which was the place to be to study Electrical and Computer Engineering, my major. I always felt the name had a sort of romantic feel to it, and now I find out all these years later that Hammerschlag from German means Hammer Blow. Not quite as romantic, but in the sense it was used tonight with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, playing Mahler, it is indeed again romantic. 'In 1965 Machinery Hall was renamed Hamerschlag Hall in honor of the first president of Carnegie Institute of Technology, Arthur Arton Hamerschlag'

Manfred Honeck discusses the famous ‘Hammerschlag’ in the 4th movement of Mahler’s Sixth Symphony... "Mahler asked for a short powerful but dull sound almost like the fall of an ax on a tree. He didn't think the bass drum would capture the sense of what he was trying to create. Here at Heinz Hall we have built a big wooden box that will be placed on a riser in the percussion section. You will not only hear but also see principle percussionist Andrew Reamer strike it with a big hammer at 3 dramatic points in the final movement."

The first selection this evening was the Eugene Goossens Concert piece for Oboe/English Horn and Two Harps with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra with James Gorton, Getchen Van Hoesen and Heidi Van Hoesen Gorton. Manfred Honeck delicately conducted the subtle drama between the orchestra and the soloists, who did a great job. Many of the phrases were tentative and hesitant, as if music dancing on a string. Subject lines would question, as an introspective retrospective. I fully enjoyed this concerto, the volume was perfect for my ears. Later, although I did fully enjoy Mahler's 6th, it was quite loud, perhaps too loud for my ears.

Before the concert Henry Hillman and Teresa Heinz spoke as a tribute to Heinz Hall's 40th anniversary. Heinz spoke metaphorically of those who would plant trees, even though they know they will never sit under the branches of that tree once grown. She described her father in law, Jack Heinz, who referred to those along with himself as his "band of dreamers" for they were aspiring to fulfill the dream to realize a vibrant cultural district, and that began with Heinz Hall.

Inexorably Persuasive and Stunningly Radiant

This evening at Heinz Hall the audience was delightfully treated to three chiefly different compositions by Richard Strauss conducted by Manfred Honeck and passionately played by members of the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. Not only that, but the inexorably persuasive and stunningly radiant rendition given by Joshua Bell of the Brahms Violin Concerto left no patron without a smile. This was a really enjoyable concert!

One of my favorite authors passed away this week. In his book "Fahrenheit 451," Ray Bradbury wrote: "Everyone must leave something behind when he dies. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. It doesn't matter what you do so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away." These words are touching. I thought of this theme while listening to the selections this evening. The book is set in a futuristic society where people don't read books, but watch TV. But the main character is an individualist who escapes this controlled society into the country, where books are memorized to be preserved for the future revival of civilization.

While listening I think of the gift of freedom and the rights against censorship that we all enjoy. I'm grateful to past generations for these gifts, and maintain that we should all fight to preserve them. I also think not only of books and words, but of notes. Richard Strauss composed all three of these works in the late nineteenth century, yet he lived many more years and died in 1949 in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany. He lived through two world wars, and saw the advent and fall of national socialism. In his eyes, ears and thoughts there must have been the tensions and drama that government can bring upon the individual. His early music of the roaring 90s sounds youthful, even the composition Death and Transfiguration has a very youthful feel to it, as if the whole piece represents the 'transfiguration', or 'Verklärung' in German. Yet his early music also seems to hold a certain connection to these themes, perhaps I imagine so based on my line of thought.

Certainly Strauss and Brahms have changed something, they've forever changed music with their wonderful compositions. Their time period would have had contemporaries in Jules Verne and H. G. Wells. Bradbury himself has left something behind in his writings. Each of these composers and writers I feel I have a connection based on what they've left behind. And I wonder, in my life, what will I leave behind.

Before the concert I visited the Pittsburgh Arts Festival. I rode my bicycle from the garage where I parked down to Point State Park, and walked around to see and experience the art and festivities. This musician was playing a 'Didgeridoo'. The photo was taken with the camera on the ground for effect. The sounds from this are amazing, especially with the audio reflections under the bridge at the point. Here is a sampling of the sound that I recorded when he played: Box audio of Didgeridoo at Point State Park by Douglas Bauman

An American tasked to hear Parisian Musical Joy

It seems an almost insurmountable task to record every idea experienced attending a concert, especially when the goal is to transcribe the impressions and later fully bring them to written fruition. Several hurdles have to be overcome including timeliness and precision. Hearing, seeing and experiencing the music must be recorded in real time, yet writing with pen and paper is a rather slow process. I take notes, but they are never very verbose; it becomes necessary to try to discern exactly what was meant at the time those few words were scribed in the margins of the program. An abstract quality which is difficult to relate at the time of hearing is sometimes obscure. A musical expert may find the task less daunting, but for me it is often difficult to relay thoughts in precise musical terms. When I'm taking the time afterwards to hop, skip or jump beyond these hurdles I've described, I often fill in the gaps with new impressions.

During the performance this evening I noticed a photographer in suit and tie holding an impressive professional-looking camera taking photos of the orchestra. To do this one would need special permission. Often I have wondered what it would be like to be able to photograph Music Director Manfred Honeck as he adroitly conducts the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. It would be a treat to first see the majestic movements and then to capture in photographs the ethereal elliptical pirouettes inscribed in mid-air by his baton as he renders moments of pure musical joy exhibited by his one and only exuberance for the music reflected by his smile, or at other times in his serious attention to detail, manifestly pinpointing with succinct motions to the orchestra indicating specific direction.

Pétroushka, by Igor Stravinsky, received this vigorous yet nuanced attention from our venerable music director. Notes gushed forth like an irruption of migrating birds upon the warming spring grounds in search of a singular niche to call their own. Despite the unrelenting swift tempo, I was enthusiastically taken by the performance. Knowing that Pétroushka was a puppet: "the immortal and unhappy hero of every fair" was to aid my hearing of the programmatic music. My expectations were in this case enhanced by reading the program prior to listening to the music. Musically, what I appreciated most was the optimal balance of the strings to the rest of the orchestra -- the brass didn't overwhelm. Here are a few of the notes I took at the time:

• quick start; drum and trombone accent;
• sawing - a Stravinsky trademark; melody familiar; 
• fragmented & programmatic; English horn - sounding sour notes; one brief interlude;
• take flight (last movement, The Fair, towards evening); strings jovial; effervescent ending, yet more 

There you have it -- now what did I mean by that :)

Next up was the Cello Concerto by Arthur Honegger with expert solo by Anne Martindale Williams in blue dress and beaming smile. It was impressive to watch her play, and amazing the way she would use vibrato to accentuate the notes in the first part of the movement. Often the notes would go all the way down the scale to the very lowest frequency tone that can be achieved by a cello: the last string with no fingers, and this would end a phrase. This piece seemed to have a sort of rhythm and blues sound. The middle and end section seemed to suggest first a march, then a final chase, a fitting conclusion. The audience of the packed Heinz Hall offered Ms. Williams a grand standing ovation, richly deserved.

And last (but not least, there was to be one more selection), George Gershwin: "An American in Paris" with a very large compliment of musicians arrayed upon the stage.  Luscious is the first word that comes to mind in trying to describe this sweeping and melodic score. Conductor and orchestra were in complete synchronicity, as they swept me away with the sounds I've heard countless times before, but never like this, for the reasons I've often tried to describe. Sounds never heard were now heard; counterpoint revealed; harmony unhinged; it becomes evident that the symphony is an experience that simply cannot truly ever be experienced with 2, 4, 5 or even a dozen speakers, at home or at a movie theater. It simply must be experienced with 100 musicians and a singular conductor at the concert hall.

Tonight was offered an extra intermission and one final selection, this time with the Pittsburgh Youth Symphony Orchestra in place of the PSO, conducted by Lawrence Loh performing a piece by Darius Milhaud "La Creation duMonde" with ballet by Attack Theatre. Very well done, both musically, and the dance!

Deconstructing Claude

It was 'The Pursuit of Beauty' that directed my path to the steps of Heinz Hall on my quest to discover that emotion in the form of music, though nobody ever knew exactly how many forms of beauty really exist, nor how many I was in pursuit thereof. I took a few friends for they also desired to hear the best the form has ever offered, by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. In the garden outside I met fellow blogger Jennifer Pizzuto and her friend, and we discussed the upcoming concert.

In deconstructing Claude Debussy's "Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun," I'm going directly against my covenant with Jenifer. She indicated that it would be interesting to describe the emotions felt while listening to and experiencing this beautiful piece of abstract music. Yet I can't help myself. Certainly she's right that the emotions are what grab most patrons who enjoy hearing the compositions by Debussy, especially when played so very well by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra conducted by Manfred Honeck. Yet even when I try to focus on these so-called emotions, I always fall back into my usual mode of listening, trying to pick out individual aspects of the whole, and trying to see how the pieces of this complex puzzle fit together in such an intriguing fashion. At the concert hall this is possible; with prerecorded music, or radio, it is not. In the upper sections of Heinz Hall, I'm able to view each part of the orchestra as the music plays and match their part to the pinpointed sounds made by their instrument.

And what did I discover? I realized that too much introspection can somehow take away from the overall magic of the piece as a whole. Deconstructing Claude was a fun exercise in discerning different aspects of the music, sort of like reverse engineering a piece of software or technical innovation, but in the process I've lost my view of the overall composition, the beauty of the piece was somehow diminished. I do, however, still have a great appreciation for the complexities of the composition.

What emotions was I feeling... I really didn't explore that question, beyond the mere wonderment at the ability of Debussy to construct a visionary entity out of all these individual components, in complex creative ways that I don't suppose I would have ever thought of myself.

The next piece was Lili Boulanger: Psalm 130 with Stephanie Lauricella, mezzo-soprano, Juan José de León, tenor and the Mendelssohn Choir of Pittsburgh. There was so much this composition had to offer. The singing lent a wonderful aspect to the music as a whole. Yet what I liked most was the orchestration.

After intermission Lise de la Salle played the piano solo with the PSO for the concerto by Ravel. Her premier this evening was truly a treat. This concerto began with music that to me sounded like Gershwin. Who knows, perhaps it's just coincidence. The technique used by Lise de la Salle on the piano was fascinating to watch. The way she would attack the keyboard was enthusiastic, and after a phrase she would move her head in a way that suggested a sort of implied Vibrato. First hearing this piece this evening, it became to me an instant hit, something I'd like to hear again.

Ravel traveled to the U.S. in 1928. In a way it must have been his desire to compose the piano concerto in order to play in the U.S; from the program notes: "With a view toward having a vehicle for himself as a pianist on the return visit (to the US), he started work on a concerto in 1929." With that in mind, perhaps it is fitting we are hearing Ravel's concerto in Pittsburgh, performed by Lise de la Salle, piano.

Last but not least was everyone's favorite Bolero, with fantastic lighting effects which highly enhanced the experience. All the lights were dimmed, and a spotlight shone on Manfred Honeck. The audience laughed when he turned with a wry grin. Then as the drummer commenced, and each individual instrument played, the spotlight would highlight their solo as part of the composition. This progressed and then large sheer curtains lowered behind the players, with lights illuminating with interesting patterns.

After the concert Manfred Honeck and Lise de la Salle were introduced by Jim Cunningham for the Wqed night at the orchestra. I was able to meet Manfred Honeck and discuss the variety in the different compositions this evening. For instance, the Lili Boulanger: "Psalm 130" to me had a very somber tone, and reminded me of Mozart's Requium, to which Mr. Honeck indicated that it will be returning next season. He seemed glad to hear that we were happy with the program, including favorites along with music that is not often heard, a nice mix of classical music.

Magic of Paris Dons a Three Cornered Hat

In my last post I forgot to mention how much I really enjoyed the PSO's rendition of Three-Cornered Hat Suites Nos. 1 & 2 by Manuel de Falla. One of my favorite suites, and to hear it live was a personal treat! I also wanted to post a few more photos I took at Heinz Hall for the 'Magic of Paris' festival, including the post concert "L'Amour, La Vie: Daphne Sings Piaf" in the Grand Lobby. "Daphne Alderson celebrates the life and times of Edith Piaf, one of the most mercurial artists of all time. Experience the poignant, passionate chansons in their original versions as toured by Piaf and her contemporaries following the PSO concert in the Grand Lobby."

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City of lights hewn before my ears

Conductor Gianandrea Noseda introduced the Respighi "La Boutique Fantasque" this evening with his usual flair. Some conductors don't take the opportunity to talk to the audience, yet it's often a very entertaining way to connect the music with the audience. His assertion was that perhaps this piece was 50% by Respighi and 50% by Rossini, who came to Paris at the 'ripe old age of 37', and for a while didn't write a note. Eventually, according to Noseda, he did write some piano pieces, which were eventually orchestrated by Respighi for the 8 movements fantastically presented this evening by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.

This composition, which I'm hearing for the first time tonight, except for a few melodies which I do recognize, seems amazing to me. Each piece, each section, and as a whole, this music is much to amazing to be so obscure. The overture begins with a great melody, playful and enticing, and when it's done, I wish to hear more. Yet no fear, each and every movement to follow has the same quality, enduring and melodic. With this music as a backdrop, I begin to write the following, even turning into poetry...

In the beginning there were sounds. Sounds, branching into myriad amalgamations of sonorous tendrils bundled algorithmically into packets of temporal relations, juxtaposed behind alternating selections thematically grouped in musical forms intended to smack the listener with the greatest melodic impact.

Then there were words, but just what words can accurately, concisely and vigorously capture the fullest splendor of the music?

Words can be beautiful. Words can be bright.
Say the thing you mean, but do words have the right?
Can they usurp the reality of the tender music,
That we would hear throughout the night.

A vain attempt these words do make
to model reality and meaning take;
losing in the transcription the larger part
between harmonious reality and what's in my heart.

My noble attempt to say the words, now past
has led me here to the threshold, magic at last.

The city of lights this night is hewn before my ears,
release the hidden subtlety as comprehension nears;
the music, as with the light, unleashed to shed our fears.

Meandering Contemplative Juxtapositions

A misunderstanding or perhaps simply my misplaced accounting of the movements that comprise Berlioz' Romeo and Juliet led my confused mind wandering down several wrong-way paths of meandering contemplative juxtapositions whereby I was questioning the composer's dubious choice of musical content meant to picturesquely represent the various scenes from Shakespeare's play.
My eventual state of bewildered confusion was only temporary; somehow I was off by two movements. The programmatic music had the titles of the movements listed in the program, and since I've never heard Berlioz' suite before (Suite from Roméo et Juliette, Dramatic Symphony, Opus 17, 1839), and because these are only excerpts (we don't get to hear the choral finale), I miscalculated where I was along the way.

'Love Scene', I confused for part of 'Romeo Alone'.  'Queen Mab Scherzo' I substituted for 'Festival at the Capulets' followed by erroneously thinking the true 'Love Scene' was 'Romeo at the Tomb of the Capulets' -- a mistake which had me all mixed up, wondering: what was Berlioz thinking? As the music sequenced further beyond what was published, I realized my mistake, feeling somewhat embarrassed and realizing that instead of misguided, Berlioz was a genius composing such luscious, broad, delicate and sweeping sounds gloriously representing the love of Romeo and Juliet. The real scherzo (not the one I imagined from before) is creative and vibrant and with beating drums and dramatic tempos first fast then slow then fast again.

I really did enjoy this version by Berlioz, yet it's difficult not to compare the version by Tchaikovsky which is really spectacular, so it's not fair to pit the two against each other in a hypothetical match-up. Certainly I want to hear the Berlioz version again, I find that listening to selections repeatedly reenforces my like for the music.

After intermission we were treated to Brahms: Piano Concerto No. 2, music with which I am very familiar. Nicholas Angelich took complete control with his mastery of the piano. His technique wasn't subtle, his tumultuous approach at the beginning was enough to wake the sleepiest of patrons, simultaneously usurping the role of the orchestra, at least for movements 1 and 2. I really do like the music, but for some reason the first two movements seemed too loud for my liking, somehow saturating my senses, like clipping for speakers (when the peaks and troughs of a sinusoidal waveform hit the maximum permissible value, it indicates a signal has been 'clipped.'). However, the 3rd and 4th movements were just right, the perfect volume, and very well played by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. Note to self: get seats further back next time.

I always enjoy seeing guest conductor Gianandrea Noseda with the PSO, he did a great job as always, very animated with adroit clarity - I hope he returns often.

Like an Egyptian

First up; Steven Stucky: Son et Lumière; a glistening journey in one movement with rapid change-ups and lots of percussion -- something I always enjoy. Mr Stucky gave a very nice introduction: "entertaining, super entertaining, does handstands, constantly in motion..." Did I mention that he said it would be entertaining? Indeed it was.

Next up; Stephen Hough performing the solo on Camille Saint-Saëns: Piano Concerto No. 5, 'Egyptian'. Not sure why it is called Egyptian, it doesn't really sound Egyptian, but perhaps that was what was intended. However it did sound simply fabulous - and since this is the first time I've ever listened to this concerto, I was completely mesmerized by the creative ideas, as if the composer's attempts to journey to the 'East' gave him an outlet for fascinating new aspects of music which stretched the limits. Mr Hough plays a beautiful encore after much applause.

Finally, the glowing Cinderella Suite by Sergei Prokofiev. This one you must experience in person, preferably with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. Leonard Slatkin conducted a wonderful performance this evening, one I'll never forget.

Stephen Hough stands to sign autographs at Heinz Hall following his performance with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, Camille Saint-Saëns: Piano Concerto No. 5, 'Egyptian'

Rekindled Phase with the Universe

When this day began, no notes plunged tentacles deep within my heart, no songs ran feathers up and down my goose-bumped skin, eliciting magical feelings. No music heretofore evoked rapt emotional sentiment, no sounds crept upon abstracted mind, preoccupied with superficial daily diversion. Yet the symphony concert was about to begin, and I had not yet made myself ready to absorb the abstracted musical foray into glistening heights I usually achieve quite easily with only one felled note.

I listened eagerly, my furrowed eyebrows throwing daggers at my gloomy outlook, attempting to disrupt my present departure from optimism. Somehow I felt out of phase with the universe -- surely a world without the beauty of classical music could not bound my horizon for long -- certainly the orchestral sounds would unravel the chord that tied my mind.

All around my seat other patrons sat on the edges of their red velvet chairs, engrossed in the brewing cauldron of ephemeral sounds, waiting with collective bated breaths for greater astonishments with each successive cadence. For some, expectations were crystallized in wide eyes and gentle smiles. I sat with rapt attention, still out of phase, and I envied them.

Seeing their apt linkage with the dynamic intonations stirred within me a growing contagion of congenial spirit, and increased excitement in my own appreciation of the piece. Shifting colors slowly filled my soul, now searching for melodic phrases to latch upon, familiarize myself with, and to absorb the form and counterpart fitting the rhythm to my out of synch mind and finally finding a rekindled phase with the universe.

Conductor Yan Pascal Tortelier and soloist Sarah Chang were no less responsible for coalescing the former dichotomy between my formerly handcuffed state of mind and my desire to thoroughly enjoy the resonant sounds. Tortelier introduced the concert with his unique style of merry musings on the advent of the inclusion of Morton Gould's "Spirituals" with Bernstein's "West Side Story Suite" arranged by Newman, and Jean Sibelius' Symphony No. 1. It turns out it was simply luck that he played a CD that had sat on his shelf, and upon listening to the 'Spirituals' decided this would be the perfect piece to go with the other two. His choice was a good one in my opinion, I thoroughly enjoyed Gould's composition, played well by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, and wonder why I've never heard it before.

Sarah Chang's range of performance salvaged what I felt was a rapid meandering frolic on the West Side Story Sweet by Bernstein. If it had progressed somewhat slower, like the original, I might have enjoyed it more. Nevertheless Chang's rendition of the melodies, especially in the second half of the piece, delivered a magnetic exhibition.

Sibelius' Symphony No. 1 began. With the slow raising of his hand Tortelier commenced a flute and soft drum roll, then stood perfectly still, waiting for this atypical opening to progress on its own. He points to the violins and they rapidly saw their transitioning portion to the rest of the strings which build a fullness that lends its way to the horns, then to the woodwinds as they sidle up to the whole orchestra, rapidly ascending as if to the very top of a mountain peak, which is followed by a sweet interlude, accelerating to greater rhythms and journeys throughout. Absorbed in the composition, I finally realize I have not changed at all, the universe has realigned itself to me.

Previn and the Pittsburgh, Recapitulated

I've always wanted to attend a concert with André Previn conducting the PSO, and this past weekend was my perfect opportunity. Mr Previn walks on stage assisted by a staff member, he turns, smiles and bows graciously before the audience, then is seated on a chair on the conductor's podium. He starts the music instantly, not hesitating for the applause to subside, as the marvelous symphony number 102 of Franz Joseph Haydn begins. His arms are long and reaching, and his hands expressive as he conducts with flair.

Next comes a world premier of Previn's own composition, his own Triple Concerto for Trumpet, Horn and Tuba featuring George Vosburgh, trumpet, William Caballero, horn and Craig Knox, tuba. It begins with a jaunt, or journey, as if music from an action movie score. The second movement begins with deep tones, soft and slow, then builds. At times I hear what I perceive as a bit of dissonance almost verging on vertigo. The third movement starts with descending notes of the strings, then the brass takes the notes back down the scale. All throughout the trumpet, horn and tuba are well balanced with the orchestra, but I am most partial to the tuba, something not often heard in a role of soloist. Again I detect dissonance, but then beautiful rich sounds of the strings take over again.

Finally the Mendelssohn Symphony No. 4, "Italian". I'm almost at a loss for words, the beauty of this performance is simply too difficult to describe. I want to hear it again. André Previn bows to the audience to lots of applause, and he even applauds the PSO for their performance, as seen in the photo.

PSO's Enigmatic Passion frame Ax's lively performance

As the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, led by conductor Nikolaj Znaider, begin Richard Wagner's Prelude and Liebestod from Tristan und Isolde, I see Cellos, Flutes, Piccolo, Violins then Horns as the Prelude portion builds. Then I realize that Mr Znaider has no score, and I'm amazed at his ability to remember all the parts and transitions for the entire orchestra. Also consider all the knowledge he has as a soloist on the violin, and add to that the symphonic repertoire of his conducting -- that's quite a feat of memory.

Wagner must be very difficult to remember. I've listened to "Tristan und Istolde" perhaps dozens of times, and I would be quite challenged to remember which parts of the orchestra must play at what times, the sequence of events, yet Znaider has it perfect and without a score. He points to the violins, and they play, he gestures to the horns, and they play, time after time he knows exactly where to go next. Sweeping back and forth, also succinct with his waving baton, he brings each musician, each section to the proper place at just the right time. The second part, the 'Liebestod' has always given me goosebumps, every single time I hear it. Tonight it's even better, with the beautiful live sounds coming directly from the PSO at Heinz Hall - here it produces a deeper warm glow, built upon the tender passion that comes directly from the music.

Four opening notes begin Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 22 with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, but piano soloist Emanuel Ax doesn't commence for several more bars. Later, the same 4 opening notes are again repeated by the orchestra -- this time I see conductor Znaider mouth those notes in a natural pantomime "Buh Buh Bum Buh." I feel the urge to hum along myself, but I keep my notes to myself, until sometime after the concert.

As violin soloist a few weeks ago, Znaider was sublime; tonight as maestro and conductor, he is supreme; his long reach extends almost into each of the sections of musicians urging the music to come forth irresistibly. Between passages the orchestra grows still as Mr Ax rips through another beautiful sequence of seemingly never-ending rapid notes meandering up and down the length of the keyboard, and conductor Znaider turns toward the pianist and smiles approvingly, as the music continues.

The second moment enlightens my mind with metaphoric images of an artists pallet, arrayed with colors; ready for the musicians to spread abstract amalgamations of melody woven with the hues of harmony into a masterpiece of adroit development. At one point the piccolo and bassoon are performing a two part rhythm which then melds into a tender dance like the sounds of a gentle brook, culminating with the final falling of a leaf gently to a forest floor.

With the third and final movement, the artistic pallet of the last movement is completely changed back to the typical spark of recognizable Mozart counterpoint I am used to. The acumen of the flourishes burst forth, then flirt as if hiding behind various sections of the orchestra. I wonder if some of the piano sections could sound the same if played backwards or forwards, the hands literally go up and down the scale. The killer melody of the piano is surrounded by the harmony of the orchestra, surrounding each other and eventually giving way to a short intermezzo, slowing the tempo, before returning to the original fast paced theme. The sheer volume of notes are distinctly heard, yet build the sound into a full bodied exuberance. The Piccolo and Bassoon interplay near the end, bringing a smile to my face.

Mr Ax, after a standing ovation, beautifully plays Debussy's "Pagodas" as his encore, striking almost every black key on the keyboard.

Until this evening, I've never heard the complete set of Edward Elgar's Enigma Variations. The finale is recognizable. While each variation has it's own glorious sound, together they don't necessarily seem like unified elements sequentially placed in a principal theme, but perhaps enigmatic parts in a hybrid wheel. Taken together the sections combine into one beautiful whole, but I can't help but wonder if the sections could be played in different orders, and still produce the same interesting result - the "Enigma Variations." The only exception would be the finale, which seems perfectly suited as only applicable as the ending part in this turning wheel, and the part which is most memorable.

Florid Resonant Surrender

The concert begins as composer Steven Stucky enters the stage and introduces his world premiere of "Silent Spring," a work commissioned by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. According to Mr. Stucky, "Silent Spring" is a dark, dramatic and exiting piece. In order to compose the music, he used poetic imagery suggested by the titles written by Rachel Carson in her books. Deep, gripping and urgent emotions are what he intends for his tone poem, and "if all goes well, we will experience these emotions together."

I was impressed. The music instantly drew me into it's sphere of influence, and I was hooked for the entire duration of this seminal event. Low tones cascading upwards, transitioning abruptly, led to fluttering strings, ominously placed as if birds in migration. Sounds quite congruous, yet evoking dread, were crying out to be heard. Subdued quiet ensued and a bell tolls. An oboe laments and somber sounds from deep bass resound in peaceful yet asymmetrical furrows below the din. Again a bell tolls. Still silent, and subtle, intonation begets a rising lumbering echo permeating perhaps a forest floor. Towering monoliths, slowly moving, look below the heights. Strings build upward toward a plateau, beyond which are ocean's waves, splashing, breaking, accelerating; tides rip through currents, racing ever on to an eventual climax of capitulation. Dissonance appears, bells chime and sounds subside into a florid resonant surrender. Drums beat in humble silence, and at the end only the baton is moving, one final stroke and submission is complete: silence.

The audience around me also appreciate this wonderful tone poem by Mr. Stucky, as evidenced by the resounding applause, smiles and wonder.

Sibelius' Violin Concerto is one of my favorites. Like many of the best concertos, it has the form and flair that make it compelling. This concerto, however begins in a rather unconventional manner, as if a lone individual, in a vast forest, begins a beckoning call, asking the forest creatures to begin their morning murmurs. Nikolaj Znaider is this individual, and his violin warbles reverberating tones in combinations seemingly unattainable, yet deeply haunting and rich in timber. The final movement, with it's catchy beat, is the perfect finale for the showmanship of Mr Znaider, with a violin that seems too small for his stature. After the standing ovation, Mr Znaider plays a beautiful and simple encore.

As Manfred Honeck begins to conduct Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6, "Pathétique," I realize he has no score before him, only a baton -- it's obvious this symphony is in his memory and part of his repertoire, and the evident flourish displayed as he sweeps the orchestra into the spirited development betrays his union with the music. As I think of Tchaikovsky and the circumstances at the end of his life (Tchaikovsky conducted his B minor Symphony for the first time only a week before his death), I can't help but think of an enormous contradiction -- to me, this symphony is full of optimism, passion and furious jaunts marching with alacrity toward the wish to be alive, in love and full of joy. Yet the final movement jumps over that metaphor into a lament and ends, as does the first piece we heard this evening, by decelerating into an eventual state of silence, not at all the typical ending for Tchaikovsky or any composer. Yet it's beautiful.

The evening is a delight, as always. Indeed I learn to surrender to the florid resonant sounds of the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. If I were afflicted with a passion of music and sound (and I am), and the talent to put those notes together into glorious harmony, forever recorded, then I would be even more in love with life and everything in it; certainly the very thought of being in love is reason enough to be optimistic; never yearn to posses the object of that love, but forever love from afar the beauty and the music.

Caught Temporal Embrace

A caught temporal embrace never lasts beyond the fleeting flicker of the moment it was intended, never grants the bearer a feeling beyond a mere moment's euphoria and eventually fades, like the best of dreams, into the mundane aspects of conscience reality. Yet we hungrily cling to that memory, that moment of passion hoping to preserve and inflate the lingering abstract qualities of the encounter into an everlasting painting hung upon the wall, always there to see. Well beyond the seat where I sit is a stage, arrayed with chairs, filled with talented musicians, led by a brilliant maestro; and they are there today to play for me the very best of classical music, composed throughout the ages. My temporal embrace begins with the entrance of conductor Manfred Honeck with a decisive grin and they begin.

Beethoven was younger than Mozart, yet somehow I think of Mozart as being always young. Mozart's untimely death at the age of 35 somehow reverses their ages in my mind. We remember Beethoven as older based on all the portraits we see. Tonight the ordering is also switched. First up is Beethoven's Symphony No. 1 from the year 1800, one of my favorites -- the scherzo is filled with wit and humor, and the finale gets me going with its toe tapping alacrity. Honeck conducts with a variety of gestures of his baton and hand including leveling, waving, extending, snapping, flowing and his signature thumb and index finger O. When he stands straight you know everything is going just right, and it was - a marvelous performance.

Mozart wrote Piano Concerto No. 16 in 1784 when he was about 28 years old. Lars Vogt did this composition much justice, it's not often played, and deserves just this kind of performance. The piano parts were witty and filled with a kind of rhythm not really heard in other Mozart piano concertos in my opinion. It was a kind of jazz like rhythm, yet the underlying joyful pomp ever present in any Mozart composition was ever present as well.

It's always a chore to keep in mind the temporal aspects of history. In my embrace of the classical compositions presented tonight, I reflect on the time-line, and wonder what Mozart would have thought of Beethoven's works, if he had lived longer and was able to hear the compositions of his younger contemporary. Or what would Beethoven have thought of the works of Respighi? And I've wondered what it would be like if I could climb into a time machine, go back and experience the classics as they were first presented.

Respighi's The Fountains of Rome and The Pines of Rome are programmatic in nature, yet stand as wonderful works of pure music in their own right. The Pines of Rome will forever be engrained in my mind as the music for the whales in Disney's Fantasia 2000, which I used to watch again and again with my daughter when she was young, yet today, listening as I did, I can perceive both the context Respighi intended, and musically without any program at all.

At the close of my temporal embrace I was no longer caught. The applause for Manfred Honeck the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra waded on, and I realized at that moment that I was suddenly released from my embrace, as if waking from a dream, with the closing chords of Respighi's Pines of Rome trumpeting marvelously in my memory and on my consciousness, and as I grasped to hold that lingering moment, I relished what I had, and I knew that I would experience it again, the next time I visit Heinz Hall to see and hear the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.

The Utmost Embodiment and Rhythm of Nature

My trips to Heinz Hall to see and hear the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra are mostly driven by the joy of music. Yet there's often much more offered than just the music. Tonight I was treated to a very entertaining introduction to the Steven Stucky's Spirit Voices, Concerto for Percussion and Orchestra. In the lobby members of the Duquesne University School of Music were on hand to generously demonstrate percussion instruments with exhibitions and explanations of the instruments and their sounds; and they even gave us the opportunity to try out the instruments ourselves. I tried the Vibraphone, and my friend Miki tried the gong.




All three selections this evening share a similar character - the utmost embodiment and rhythm of nature. Ravel's Mother Goose was the first of these programmatic pieces with recognizable melodies wrapped around themes such as Sleeping Beauty, Tom Thumb, Beauty and the Beast, and finally the Enchanted Garden. Conductor Juraj Valcuha lead the Pittsburgh Symphony on a beautiful journey through the suite with dulcet rhythms, lush strings and a singularly optimistic sound.

According to the composer Steven Stucky, "Spirit Voices takes its inspiration from the diversity of spirits and other supernatural forces from cultures around the world who manifest their presence through sound. The music itself does not borrow from these original cultures but instead comes purely from my own imagination."

Stucky's inspiration combined with his own imagination have created a fascinating kind of new classical music for the audience. I myself found that half the enjoyment of the piece came from the sounds, yet the other half was from the interest I derived in watching the soloist, Dame Evelyn Glennie perform with the percussion. It was as if she was not merely playing the instruments, but was enmeshed in a form of dance amongst a collection of xylophones, glockenspiels, gongs, tom-toms, wood blocks, cowbells, beaters and sticks.

In his introduction, Steven Stucky indicated that the piece was full of colors and character with sudden contrasts, and that we might all want to be ready for surprises. He indicated that the PSO were full partners with the percussion, and that he hoped we would all be fascinated, surprised and excited.



After intermission came for me the real treat, Rachmaninoff's Symphonic Dances. On wikipedia I read that the original name was "Fantastic Dances," with movement titles of "Noon," "Twilight" and "Midnight." The symphony was wide ranging, with lush melodies, and sweeping romanticism, and full bodied orchestration. From the PSO I enjoyed the vivid sound and vibrant texture, and conductor Valcuha seemed to energize the orchestra further with his energetic phrasing. At times the sound was soft and clear, others, intense and breathtaking - all in all this is a composition that must be experienced live at the concert hall - listening at home (which I did a few days prior to the concert just to whet my appetite) just doesn't cut it.

The Merry Lives of Yinzer

Yinzer - that's me, even though I don't often use that expression, yet my life was merry indeed at such a wonderful concert -- one with many references to Pittsburgh. I was able to make it to Heinz Hall an hour early to hear most of the concert prelude with Resident Conductor Lawrence Loh and PSO Concertmaster Noah Bendix-Balgley. This was a nice introduction to Mr. Bendix-Belgley and the interview process he had to endure to become PSO concertmaster, and Mr. Loh did an excellent job of introducing the music.


More merry was I to listen to an excellent rendition of Beethoven's Piano Concerto number 1, elegantly played by Leif Ove Andsnes, piano.


All of Beethoven's piano concertos are a joy. In the notes I see that "Both scores (1 & 2) appeared in 1801, the delay apparently caused by Beethoven’s desire to keep them from his rivals and reserve them for his personal use." I wonder, if Beethoven were to write music today, with places like youtube out there on the internet, if he would reserve his music for his personal use, or publish it online. If online, I expect he would have better luck than I, having published a nature video myself called 'American toad singing Western Pennsylvania' in the spring of 2008, only to have a so-called disputed copyright claim on my toad video by another company about a month ago. I disputed that claim, but youtube won't do anything about it. I recorded the video myself in a pool full of toads some years ago. How in the world can a big music company make a claim on it I have no idea, there is no music, just a toad singing. But this happens a lot where companies lay claim to content that does not belong to them. Beethoven would perhaps roll over in his grave if he saw the state of the music industry today. Note: I would like to also state that the pictures I post here are mine, made by me, as are the words :)

One of my favorite pieces was played this past weekend: Overture to The Merry Wives of Windsor (1846-1849) by Otto Nicolai -- I've quoted the line below from the PSO notes on their web page, I liked the reference, and must listen to Die Meistersinger again to hear the melody:

"The complementary melody is not heard again in the opera, though Richard Wagner so admired it that he borrowed it for an episode in Act III of Die Meistersinger. "

Another beautiful piece - Zigeunerweisen, by Pablo De Sarasate, was surprising in the ability of soloist Noah Bendix-Balgley to control the depth and breadth of the solo part. Manfred Honeck joked before the piece that they picked something not too hard, with not too many notes. His sarcasm was amusing, because this piece was extremely difficult with lots of notes.

At the end came a few Strauss selections with lots of fun - first Manfred Honeck indicates that there is an expression (paraphrasing) "in Germany it is said they work 350 days and are on holiday 15, but in Austria they work 15 days and are on holiday 350." This was the introduction to 'Auf Ferienreisen' (Holiday Trips) by Josef Strauss, where Mr. Bendix-Balgley strolls out in vacation garb, situates a beach chair, opens a few beers, gives a few to the orchestra including the Maestro, and generally garners many laughs. Josef Strauss' 'Feuerfest Polka' comes next, with a real anvil, and the percussionist (help me with his name, he was great!) places a terrible towel on the beach chair, dons a pair of sunglasses, and does his percussion on the anvil while drinking beer. What a great time!

Unflinching precision and beauty

Unflinching precision and beauty - the evening last night was replete with precise notes, falling one after another without interruption, yet arrayed with timbre, expressiveness and energy. Gabriela Montero was at her best with the Prokofiev Concerto Number 3, and she performed two wonderful improvisations, one on 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star', the other based on the 'Here We Go Steelers' tune. She asked the audience for someone to sing a song. One lady sang Twinkle Twinkle melody -- it turns out I know her personally, and talked to her at intermission, so that rules out any possibility of a 'plant' in the audience ;)

Ms. Montero begins with the simple melody for 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star', then changes the key and introduces other forms of development. Next chords and other threads begin to appear -- counterpoint breezes through adroitly with cascading lines, and Presto: it now sounds like a full flung Bach composition, yet the Twinkle Twinkle continues to materialize. The spontaneous nature of her improvisation is impressive to say the least, and goes to show her amazing talent - not only as a performer but as a composer of classical music. The second improv was more in the style of Liszt, with a fluid meandering of fingers intertwined with a teaming cadence quite lively and exuberant.



The Prokofiev concerto was new to me. It began with a very fast tempo - which to me was almost feverish, and very enjoyable. After the first movement I heard someone say - amazing! The second movement was filled with lush strokes and the final movement exhibited grand gestures from both the piano and the orchestra.

Earlier in the day I listened to a podcast interview hosted by Jim Cunningham of WQED where she talks about her new composition, a piano concerto which makes a personal political statement about Venezuela. On facebook she indicates that she is working on a recording of the composition which she premiered recently in Germany called 'ExPatria'. This is an excerpt from her facebook page:

"ExPatria"

As an expatriate Venezuelan, it may be of little surprise that I should wish to express, in music, a longing for the beautiful country of my birth.

However, my debut as a composer reaches beyond private nostalgia to a very public cry. ExPatria is a portrayal of a country barely recognizable from that of my youth. It is my emotional response to the loss of Venezuela herself to lawlessness, corruption, chaos and rates of murder among the highest in the world.

After intermission I was awestruck by the beauty of the Brahms Symphony number 2 expertly played by the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. Guest conductor Christoph König majestically conducted the orchestra with an express set of gestures succinct in their effect with the players, and entertaining for the audience as well.

Gabriela Montero in Pittsburgh

Gabriela Montero in Pittsburgh signing autographs - after Sergei Prokofiev's Piano Concerto No. 3 she performed two wonderful improvisations, one on 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star', and the other based on the 'Here We Go Steelers' tune.