Saturday, March 26, 2011
It Happened Again!
There I was, sitting in our little First Tier Davies Hall seats, after a tiring day - the combination of the hills of my new home town, walking miles through Costco to stock up for the in-laws' visit, and my gym workouts had squashed me flat, but no way was I going to NOT go to the Symphony, so there I was, sitting.
The house was packed - which it is not always - so I figured the Dvorak New World Symphony had a name that attracted audiences, and the SF Symphony had been smart to program it . Was it possible that the world of symphonic music had it's "Beauty and the Beast" sure-fire programming buzz names? Just like theater? Of course they do...and it looked like the Dvorak piece was such a one....so there we sat...
The lights dimmed, and the band - a small one for the first act of Mozart violin music - tuned up, looking great and arranged rather unusually, with the strings concentrated in different formations than I was used to seeing. Out walked Herbert Blomstedt, their venerable conductor emeritus and then a pretty slender woman in a lovely one strap gown, with an 18th century Stradivarius, and off we went into the land of Mozart played brilliantly by the astonishing Arabella Steinbach. Oh my god, she was amazing! Such virtuoso playing, such skill and dexterity. Such delicacy of pitch! And sweet sweet sweetness of tone. It was heavenly, and stirring.....it sure did wake me up and make me glad to be alive!
THEN: after she stunned us further with an encore , unplanned (except by the wily old conductor who seems to believe in giving the people what they want, even if they think they want to go out to the intermission and go to the bathroom...he knows they really came for the music)....well, she was a one-woman orchestra on that single slender fiddle...it was like nothing I've every heard before.
In this lifetime, I will never be as good at anything as that woman is at the age of 28 on her violin. Maybe next lifetime, I can start studying something (besides eating) at age three. Brava Annabella Steinbach!
THEN - after that intermission - the SF Symphony Orchestra played in full force (it was a large and gorgeous sound coming from the full complement of musicians) the most rousing Dvorak: The New World Symphony! GET OUT OF THE WAY: it was stunning. Glorious. Moving. Huge sound. Sweet soft dynamics. Utterly right. This orchestra was very proud to show us what it is made of, and I for one, was deeply grateful we were there to hear it. But so were all the thousand others. The encore was again unexpected, but this Herbert Blomstedt knows his audience, and before we could catch out breath he was off into some Smetana anthem or other and the people were frenzied with appreciation! Such applause and cheering. It was an evening you want to have when you go the Symphony.You want this kind of life-changing sound to come at you from all around you.
It was positively tribal.
And there's another concert - Tchaikovsky piano music!- next week...we will take Peter's folks!
I am content.
The house was packed - which it is not always - so I figured the Dvorak New World Symphony had a name that attracted audiences, and the SF Symphony had been smart to program it . Was it possible that the world of symphonic music had it's "Beauty and the Beast" sure-fire programming buzz names? Just like theater? Of course they do...and it looked like the Dvorak piece was such a one....so there we sat...
The lights dimmed, and the band - a small one for the first act of Mozart violin music - tuned up, looking great and arranged rather unusually, with the strings concentrated in different formations than I was used to seeing. Out walked Herbert Blomstedt, their venerable conductor emeritus and then a pretty slender woman in a lovely one strap gown, with an 18th century Stradivarius, and off we went into the land of Mozart played brilliantly by the astonishing Arabella Steinbach. Oh my god, she was amazing! Such virtuoso playing, such skill and dexterity. Such delicacy of pitch! And sweet sweet sweetness of tone. It was heavenly, and stirring.....it sure did wake me up and make me glad to be alive!
THEN: after she stunned us further with an encore , unplanned (except by the wily old conductor who seems to believe in giving the people what they want, even if they think they want to go out to the intermission and go to the bathroom...he knows they really came for the music)....well, she was a one-woman orchestra on that single slender fiddle...it was like nothing I've every heard before.
In this lifetime, I will never be as good at anything as that woman is at the age of 28 on her violin. Maybe next lifetime, I can start studying something (besides eating) at age three. Brava Annabella Steinbach!
THEN - after that intermission - the SF Symphony Orchestra played in full force (it was a large and gorgeous sound coming from the full complement of musicians) the most rousing Dvorak: The New World Symphony! GET OUT OF THE WAY: it was stunning. Glorious. Moving. Huge sound. Sweet soft dynamics. Utterly right. This orchestra was very proud to show us what it is made of, and I for one, was deeply grateful we were there to hear it. But so were all the thousand others. The encore was again unexpected, but this Herbert Blomstedt knows his audience, and before we could catch out breath he was off into some Smetana anthem or other and the people were frenzied with appreciation! Such applause and cheering. It was an evening you want to have when you go the Symphony.You want this kind of life-changing sound to come at you from all around you.
It was positively tribal.
And there's another concert - Tchaikovsky piano music!- next week...we will take Peter's folks!
I am content.
Labels: SF Symphony
Monday, February 07, 2011
I'd Walk a Mile For a Symphony
Years ago, with the ardent belief that my body needed strenuous internal cleansing, I went to a nutritionist who put me on all sorts of juices fasts: Cranberry juice and mineral water for my liver, watermelon juice and mineral water for my kidneys, orange/grapefruit/lemon juice and mineral water for my entire lymphatic system.
I was a walking, sloshing, California fruit orchard for weeks at a time. And I kept the bottled mineral water industry afloat, not to mention my bladder.
The benefits of course were lovely- an anorexic’s dream - since I was eating no solid food except little carrot sticks and whole stalks of celery, but lips that touched cheeseburgers never touched mine.
One of the more ingenious tortures she devised was a total non-dairy regimen for an entire year, if you can imagine it: Nothing from any animal that produced any milk whatsoever was allowed in my mouth and for an entire 12-month period of time. I didn’t go near a single container of milk, cream, yogurt, ice cream, cottage cheese (any cheese!), half-n-half, whipping cream, condensed milk, sherbet, pudding, mayonnaise, horseradish sauce, creamery salad dressing, margarine or butter. The American Dairy Association and I parted company. I even tried to go nowhere near a cow or goat, which wasn’t very difficult, since I was quite an urban gal at the time. The only goats that crossed my path were the old men who leered at me on the subway.
Then, one day, the year had passed, and, finding myself in a show in Boston, I went with the gang to a famous hole-in-the-wall seafood joint where the clam chowder was legendary, and for the first time in 365 days ordered what everyone else did. I felt somehow evil doing so, but did it nonetheless: my year in the desert had passed. And I remember the first taste of that creamy, buttery, thick and gorgeously seasoned soup like it was yesterday: it was heavenly. Indescribably so.
My taste buds – so grateful they wept – woke up with a gentle start, as if the sleep had done them good, as they celebrated with a slow stretch, a deep intake of sweet sensations that greeted them: the flavors, the smooth textures, the complex tastes that layered one upon another: the comfort of it all. It was as if , in the moments I savored that little bowl of chowder, I re- discovered land and realized what my legs were for.
Which is exactly the same thing that happened to me when I went to my first San Francisco Symphony concert 3 weeks ago: an evening of Khachaturian and Prokofiev, with one of the most delightful violin solos ever devised.
Well, not exactly the same thing, since it wasn’t my taste buds that woke up, but rather my ears, but, bodily gratitude being the point, let’s not quibble: I actually did salivate that evening, as well.
I’ve recently moved to this glorious city from NYC, but en route spent three years in a small town tucked away in a corner of SW Virginia. It is a wonderful place, this small town, and its mountains are glorious, the people the best on earth. Its blue-grass musicians are unrivaled anywhere: it is their music, the music of that region. You need an “old time music” player, you go there and you will find the best our country has to offer. But a large pool of symphonic players? Not yet. They’re working on it, and their efforts need to be supported, but for three years I went to concerts waiting for the cream to come to the table.
Which is why, when I walked into the very beautiful Davies Hall and felt the buzz of the crowds around me, a crowd clearly schooled in what to expect, I felt like I was entering that little hole-in-the-wall seafood joint from years ago, only the décor was much better. And once again, the soup did not disappoint.
As I entered the soaring auditorium (I remembered its root: audio), my soul began to lift in that old familiar way, and as if in a religious place, my head naturally lifted upward, so I could see what was there, survey the boxes and loges ringing the hall. I realize now: that is what important architecture does. It organizes your experience of the place you’re entering, and the organization of Davies is sublime.
Then, I saw the stage stretched before me, and my mouth broke into a natural smile it had not felt in years. I could sense the evening would be a great one. And in that, I didn’t even suspect how right I was.
I could write another thousand words on what the magnificent music, wonderfully played by all, did to me that night. Suffice it to say – for now – that I began to weep with joy early on, and my husband had to give me his handkerchief once I’d gone through all the tissues in my little purse. I’ve always believed that a good performance of any kind should leave you moist in some way, and I was a damp mess by the end of that evening.
The difficult and sumptuous music was terrifically played, the audience was appreciative and alive, the soloists breath-taking in their skill, and my heart soared so high for the entire time that I felt giddy by evening’s end. I walked out into the lobby afterward, honored to be part of this great city, and my husband (a great fan of symphonic music) went home and ordered so many tickets to future concerts, we will be quite fat with music once we’re done.
Our cream-free fast is over: we will now consume all can.
I might even sneak in a pint of gourmet ice cream next time, and sit furtively licking it as I listen, like the old contented cat I have become.
Labels: SF Symphony
Monday, January 17, 2011
Frenzied Joy - Again, At Last!
To celebrate Peter's birthday yesterday, Paul and Stephen took us for our first visit to the San Francisco Symphony at their stunning home in the concert-perfect Davies Hall, down on Van Ness , a bus ride away from our apartment. It was thrilling. Totally thrilling.
How have I allowed myself to be away from this particular joy for so very long?
If there was any doubt - which there has not been - about the wisdom of moving to San Francisco, last night's experience at Davies Hall disappeared that doubt forevermore: we are in a city with a world-class great orchestra - thoroughly accomplished and deeply gifted - and we can now count ourselves among its true fans: we will armor ourselves with tickets for whatever we want to hear, and we want to hear a lot. We have found the remedy for our patient ears and our suffering souls: out ears have been very patient, as we tried to give them the best we could find , our souls have been suffering for lack of thrilling inspiration, and we have found - yes indeed - we have found their remedy: the San Francisco Symphony
I've never been a symphony orchestra groupie before, but, this might be my time. Last night's program of Katchaturian, and Prokofiev, with a charming, delicate curtain raiser by Mussorgsky, was so gorgeous, i cried most of the way through it all...especially the Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet , which threw me back to anotrher wonderful evening many decades ago.
I had the privilege of seeing Rudolph Nureyev and Margot Fontanne, and the entire Royal Ballet Company, dacne the Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet. They were on tour, and miraculously, Atlanta was included in that tour. Momma got us front row center seats, if you can imagine, at the lovely old Fox Theatre, so I could see Nureyev sweat, we were so close the stage. And I could practically smell the sweet talcum powder on Dame Margot....she had to have been 50 by then...but she danced with the grace and delicacy of a young ballerina and I fell so madly in love with the entire art form at that moment of her entrance.
The Prokofiev is stunningly dramatic, and those opening strains were forever embedded in my soul because of that performance...they became instantly familiar to me, as did the passages introducing young Juliet to the stage, as flighty as a feather or a heavenly species of bird. I relived it all on Saturday night, therefore the evening was rich with brilliant technical prowess (SF has some damned fine payers), and gorgeous memories, not to mention, in the Katchaturian Violin Concerto, the utter stunning beauty of the violin soloist Vadim Gluzman's playing: yikes! such dexterity and speed, with every single note clear as a bell in the even the fastest possible passages...and deeply exciting surprises in Katchaturian's writing...we were treated to gloriousness! Three movements, laced with magnificent folk melodies, virtuoso execution of extremely difficult cadenzas, and achingly beautiful storytelling...i've never heard a live performance like it in my life. Bravo Gluzman! And bravissimi for keeping up with him, you gorgeous musicians of San Francisco!
I am so in the right city for where I am in my life now, and my evening with the San Francisco Symphony underscores that lovely truth! Play on!
All of us.
Play...and dammit, dance on, as well!
How have I allowed myself to be away from this particular joy for so very long?
If there was any doubt - which there has not been - about the wisdom of moving to San Francisco, last night's experience at Davies Hall disappeared that doubt forevermore: we are in a city with a world-class great orchestra - thoroughly accomplished and deeply gifted - and we can now count ourselves among its true fans: we will armor ourselves with tickets for whatever we want to hear, and we want to hear a lot. We have found the remedy for our patient ears and our suffering souls: out ears have been very patient, as we tried to give them the best we could find , our souls have been suffering for lack of thrilling inspiration, and we have found - yes indeed - we have found their remedy: the San Francisco Symphony
I've never been a symphony orchestra groupie before, but, this might be my time. Last night's program of Katchaturian, and Prokofiev, with a charming, delicate curtain raiser by Mussorgsky, was so gorgeous, i cried most of the way through it all...especially the Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet , which threw me back to anotrher wonderful evening many decades ago.
I had the privilege of seeing Rudolph Nureyev and Margot Fontanne, and the entire Royal Ballet Company, dacne the Prokofiev Romeo and Juliet. They were on tour, and miraculously, Atlanta was included in that tour. Momma got us front row center seats, if you can imagine, at the lovely old Fox Theatre, so I could see Nureyev sweat, we were so close the stage. And I could practically smell the sweet talcum powder on Dame Margot....she had to have been 50 by then...but she danced with the grace and delicacy of a young ballerina and I fell so madly in love with the entire art form at that moment of her entrance.
The Prokofiev is stunningly dramatic, and those opening strains were forever embedded in my soul because of that performance...they became instantly familiar to me, as did the passages introducing young Juliet to the stage, as flighty as a feather or a heavenly species of bird. I relived it all on Saturday night, therefore the evening was rich with brilliant technical prowess (SF has some damned fine payers), and gorgeous memories, not to mention, in the Katchaturian Violin Concerto, the utter stunning beauty of the violin soloist Vadim Gluzman's playing: yikes! such dexterity and speed, with every single note clear as a bell in the even the fastest possible passages...and deeply exciting surprises in Katchaturian's writing...we were treated to gloriousness! Three movements, laced with magnificent folk melodies, virtuoso execution of extremely difficult cadenzas, and achingly beautiful storytelling...i've never heard a live performance like it in my life. Bravo Gluzman! And bravissimi for keeping up with him, you gorgeous musicians of San Francisco!
I am so in the right city for where I am in my life now, and my evening with the San Francisco Symphony underscores that lovely truth! Play on!
All of us.
Play...and dammit, dance on, as well!
Labels: SF Symphony
