It is chilly this week in Knoxville, with early morning temperatures in the low 30's and a nip in the air, even as the daytime temperatures rise into the 50's (so far). It is expected to be warmer later in the week, good for Easter, and good for me in a way, as I love the way the chilly temperatures remind of us of the slow expectation of spring, of the complexities of Easter celebrations, of the human condition in fact. There is a part of me that thinks it would all just be too easy if it was always sunny and warm.
Besides, I am a little worried that the tulips are early. They may not be, as I don't believe I ever had smaller species tulips, or any early varieties before. I always grew the big gaudy late tulips, which I would plant in a section of the vegetable garden planned for hot weather crops because I would cut all the blossoms and bring them into the house by the armload. Ahh the excesses of youth. So it is possible that the tulips are not early, and it is I who am not ready.
But I had promised that I would write about the symphony concert I attended on Friday, not about flowers and doubts and chill crisp air, even though it often seems that all these thoughts constantly run together in my mind. Perhaps an early boyfriend was right, I do have a no-track mind. Well, except that I know that is not true, although I can see how occasionally it may appear otherwise.
I can't really write about the concert, however, without mentioning that I had also attended a luncheon with the conductor and the soloist on Thursday as that luncheon influenced my anticipation and perspectives on the performance. Truthfully, I was a fairly quiet guest, mostly listening to conversations, adding a word or two occasionally. I suppose this does not make me the most scintillating or desirable guest, but it seems to be mostly my way, prefering to get to know people slowly, and I had a good time. The conductor, Jacomo Rafael Bairos, was charming and personable, and I was thoroughly impressed with the way he spoke about both the music to be performed that weekend and the role of music in society and culture. Elena Urioste, the guest violinist, was quieter even than I, although she grew impassioned over a conversation about books, with the result that I came home and moved Elena Ferrante's My Brilliant Friend to the top of the "to be read pile", only to have it demoted when I learned that Eric Larson would be speaking in Knoxville tonight, and I decided to try to squeeze in Dead Wake before the talk. Just so you know, I failed miserably and am still reading Kissinger.
Oh yes, the concert. I had been eagerly looking forward to this concert before attending the luncheon, but the conductor's description of the works and his reasons for choosing them, increased that anticipation. In fact the performance lived up to, and even exceeded expectations. Bairos presented a program that beautifully played up the strengths of our fabulous symphony in a rather stunning concert. He spoke well, he is persuasive and articulate, the music was gorgeous, and at times, Bairos seemed like a dancer at the podium, and the conductor and musicians part of a ballet. This is not at all surprising considering the lush music, and the strong visually imaginative component of the music being performed.
The concert opened with John Adams' The Chairman Dances from Nixon in China, although it is often performed separately, and has been used in movie soundtracks, notably I Am Love. Actually, everything on the program has been used in popular musical forms and should have been at least partially familiar to almost any audience, whatever their background, and I find this particular Adams piece to be very accessible. It is very visual, but I could feel that way simply because I know the opera, saw it performed at Brooklyn Academy of Music in the 80s (1985 or early 1986 I think), in the last season I went to BAM before marrying George. I love the light, crisp melody, the syncopation, the mix of American forms with a bit of Chinese pentatonics. You can hear the hustle and bustle in the opening movements, you can almost feel the disruption as Madame Mao's presence interrupts the flow. You can feel the shift, imagine Madame Mao dancing, see Chairman Mao joining her; the music is danceable, romantic and suffused with a sense of memory and longing. The orchestra captured that crisp rush followed by that sense of solitude, of romance, of longing. The pianist was fabulous. The audience was thrilled, as was I.
Elena Urioste was fabulous in Samuel Barber's Concerto for Violin and Orchestra, Opus 14. But the orchestra was fabulous as well, it was here that I first started thinking of a ballet, as listening to music and watching the performance, as observing a ballet, with everyone creating a harmony of sound and space. But of course, the lush opening notes of the violin drew me in and the gentle conversations between the musicians, the woodwind solos, particularly the oboe solo, were breathtaking. I had been particularly looking forward to the second movement, primarily based on the passion of Bairos' remarks on this movement at the luncheon, and it was beautiful: sad and melancholy and yet also somehow comforting, a masterful combination. But the final movement really shone, with the perfect contrast of pacing and sound, making it a truly fitting conclusion to everything that had come before it. In the end I think this was a greater test, and one passed with flying colors by both conductor and orchestra. It is easy to play up the beauty and emotion of the first two movements, but actually a bit trickier to make the vigor of the finale work within the context that has been set, and the orchestra pulled it off beautifully.
The final work was Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition as orchestrated by Maurice Ravel. I love this piece, love it so much I can't even really write about it except to say that the orchestra played brilliantly and the soloists were wonderful. But, it was not only the music, but the play of circumstances that struck me with this performance. I had been very thirsty at intermission and had picked up a huge cup of diet coke. Don't laugh, this is important. This year, for the first time, one can take concessions in to the concert hall during symphony performances, and I for one think this is a great thing. I went in to the second half, to hear the Mussorgsky, carrying a large diet coke and just the thought of it made me so happy, happy in an almost childish way, as if I was a child going to see some fabulous Disney movie, rather than a serious adult about to listen to "great" music. Of course I was both. As I sat, listening to lush music, holding my coke, sipping its sweetness, I considered that I had wasted too much of my youth being overly serious. The truth was that I almost felt like I was at a movie, for what piece of music is more visual, more movie-like, than Pictures at an Exhibition? You feel yourself walking into the exhibition, the momentousness of it, and the music takes on the images, the very life, of the paintings. You can hear the children playing, quarrelling even; the exuberant chirping of the ballet of the chicks; the vibrant conversations of women in the market; the somberness of the catacombs; all of these sounds combine to paint a picture and a mood. One is enraptured. I was enraptured. And is the soul any less enlightened if one sees pictures in music, or hears music in pictures? The sublime will find its way in if only we keep the door open.