May 2005 Archives

At a break in Romeo and Juliet dress rehearsal last week, the musicians emerged into the bright spring afternoon light, a bit bleary eyed from their time in the shadowy pit beneath the impending tragedy.

I noticed a number of musicians, the string players especially, rolling their shoulders to relieve tense muscles. One of the violinists sat next to me in the sunshine and talked about the particular challenges of playing in the pit. (I’m paraphrasing here, so I’m leaving out quotation marks.)

You have to be extra-conscious of your surroundings, he told me. You don’t want to damage the player next to you, or your bow for that matter. The space is that confined. You can’t fully release. But, he added, some of us have been doing this for 25 years. You get used to it.

The confinement of space, the challenges of the repertoire, call for an intense concentration, he told me. This was especially true of Nixon in China last season, with John Adams’ difficult, complex score and its minimalist repetitions of phrase. I couldn’t get it out of my head for weeks, he said. Don’t get me wrong, it was terrific, but it required so much concentration.

Just when the MO Dept. of Conservation Calendar says, “Chigger season begins,” I will be on vacation after today until the day after Memorial Day.

If you take a look at the homepage you’ll see info about the next chamber music concert at the Pulitzer Foundation for the Arts. David Robertson and members of the SLSO (Felicia Foland, Alison Harney, Diana Haskell, David Kim, Eva Kozma, Lisa McCullough Lalev, Kathleen Mattis, Jennifer Montone, and Jennifer Nitchman, to be exact) play works by Bela Bartók, György Ligeti and György Kurtág. The music David and the musicians have selected provides a sound juxtaposition to the exhibition Brancusi and Serra in Dialogue. As with the spring chamber concert at the Pulitzer, in which Steve Reich’s work related to the American minimalism of Richard Serra, the June 20 concert shifts perspective to the Brancusi side of things: early European modernism, a concern for tradition, sensual formalism.

When I write stuff like this, I fear some people may read it and think, “a little too high church for me.” So let this be my place to say “don’t think like that.”

Reasons to go:

1) You’ll hear some music that doesn’t get played around these parts too much. The musicians get especially thrilled about playing such work. The music is challenging, complex, fun, cool.

2) In Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, those atmospheric, eery sounds, those were compositions by Ligeti. Kubrick didn’t bother to pay the rights to the work.

3) The acoustics are remarkably fine in Ando's beautiful space. The stairs are very comfortable for sitting.

4) You rarely get a chance to go to a concert featuring two Györgys.

Only 20 bucks. Limited seating available. Hurry up.

If you’ve been following along, you know the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra splits into two for the Opera Theatre season: the Red and the Green, which are the colors of the roster sheets; thus musicians can recognize more easily where they need to be and what they need to be playing when.

But how are the musicians divvied up? I went to Susan Lim for the answer. Susan holds the position of Vice President and Orchestra Manager, which means she sorts through many complexities on an everyday basis and makes them less complex. At least she maintains a pretty high average at being able to do this, and usually remains cool as a cucumber in the process.

Many factors are involved, she told me. Stephen Lord, OTSL Music Director, works with Susan in matching all of the parts together. As per contractual obligations with OTSL, there needs to be an even distribution of principal players, so it doesn't happen that all the principals are in the pit for Rigoletto and none for Zémire and Azor. Also, a conductor may request a specific musician to play a solo passage in one opera, so that must be taken into account. The musicians may request to play a specific opera, or not play one, and those requests are run through the sorting process as well.

Family matters: since we have musicians who are couples with children, an attempt is made to place one partner in the Red and the other in the Green so childcare is less burdensome.

And there are the demands of the individual scores, the need for additional players, and so on. Somehow, it comes together, and comes together beautifully. Then, in late June, when the OTSL caravan moves on, Andrea Drinkall -- who must be mentioned because she is on the front lines of all of this coordination as Orchestra Personnel Manager -- gets some sleep.

The SLSO splits into two orchestras for Opera Theatre season, the Red and the Green (the roster sheets are two separate colors), with the Green first up for opening weekend in Webster Groves.

Romeo and Juliet rehearsal in the morning at Powell (Stephen Lord conducting) then the first dress rehearsal for Rigoletto at the Loretto Hilton Center in the afternoon: tragedy galore!

Orchestra, staff, and their families are invited to attend first dress. I was granted leave, picked up my wife and spent the afternoon thoroughly enjoying all that suffering.

In the final act the chorus stands offstage and sings some ominous chords to prepare everyone for the final disaster. Conductor Richard Buckley and Stage Director Charles Newell asked the chorus to array themselves in different ways to produce the desired effect. “Look offstage,” Buckley asked them, and everyone listened to the sound they sang. “Look backstage,” and everyone listened again. Then Buckley tried to form another request, but it came out so confusing he resorted to “do the hokey pokey and shake it all about.”

Anyway, the sound emerged, atmospheric, distant, unforgiving: perfect!

About yesterday’s blog: my wife emailed her response to my wistful contemplation of the brevity of youth. A musical response, from the John Cougar classic “Jack and Diane”:

“Hold on to 16 as long as you caaaaaan,
Changes come around real soon to make you women and men.
Dom do dom dom do dom.”

I will try to resist such sentimental urges in the future, although I wonder if John Cougar has tried writing an opera. "Jack and Diane" has all the ingredients.

The elderly woman seated next to me at the Youth Orchestra concert Sunday afternoon said she didn’t know anyone in the orchestra. She had come to a YO concert before and discovered what a fine group of musicians they were. She treated herself to a box seat ($12 for the YO concerts), because she had always wanted to sit in one. She loved the view over on the left side loge.

She loved the music too. After the opening work -- Sibelius Karelia Suite, with its sweet shapeliness, silences, and the perpetual immanence of a Baltic storm -- she turned to me and sighed, “Wasn’t that just lovely?” And it was, especially an English horn solo by Heather Baxter, so calm, sure and elegant from beginning to end. From that moment, we were hooked.

The trombones opened the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 1 with those incautious minor chords, and soloist Choo Choo Hu, in a stunning ice-blue gown, gave her powerful reply on the keyboard and we were off on a thrilling musical ride from start to finish.

Somewhere during the adagio of the Dvořák Eighth Symphony, as I watched all these attractive, young musicians work very hard to make such exquisite sound -- and to appear to be enjoying themselves in the process -- I thought of how much I wanted them to remember this moment, to somehow hold it, not just the memory of the time and place and who was there, but the feeling of the moment, the scary exhilaration, the pleasure of the sound they were creating, the too-short magnificence of it. Which is what we wish for youth -- acknowledging how sentimental that wish is -- watching from outside.

And swiftly the Dvořák came to its close. The lobby filled with parents and siblings and aunts and uncles and grandparents and boyfriends and girlfriends waiting for hugs and kisses and congratulations. Outside was early evening still brightly sunlit, an open sky.

The Saint Louis Symphony Youth Orchestra (YO) gives its final concert of the season this Sunday, May 15 at 3pm. A program of Sibelius Karelia Suite, Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 1 -- with YO Concerto Competition Co-winner Choo Choo Hu playing the solo -- and Dvořák Symphony No. 8: sophisticated European passions as interpreted by a young, Midwestern orchestra. A cool mix if there ever was one.

Two highlights this afternoon: hearing Nicolae Bica turn in a Vivaldi Winter that sizzled during rehearsal for Saturday’s KFUO concert (officially the Centene Corporation Concert this year); and the Cardinal victory, which will be followed by Tony La Russa appearing at Powell Symphony Hall this evening for SLU’s Law School graduation ceremonies. Did you ever notice how much Tony looks like Harvey Keitel? Nicolae looks like himself, which is more than enough with all that romantic Eastern European flair.

The woman who knew too much may indeed be Gerri Crowder. She has given 27 years of service to the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra and before today attempted retirement at least two or three times. However, as a colleague in the Development department told me “We wouldn’t let her go!”

This afternoon she was feted in the Met Lounge with cake, punch, a rosemary plant (for remembrance) and many staffers, former staffers, musicians and an impressive reunion of past presidents of the Volunteer Association celebrating her good and gracious character. Giving, forgiving, sweet with a compliment, Gerri leaves this organization better than it was before and forever in her debt.

Looking back at yesterday’s blog, it reads somewhat mournful. Thankfully, the robustness of Verdi’s Rigoletto underscores a new day. Conductor Richard Buckley leads the rehearsals for the Opera Theatre of St. Louis production, singing many of the parts in the absence of the vocalists. He sings terribly, but he delivers the dramatic tone of the scenes with great panache. At rehearsal break there are lots of smiles and laughter back stage. And then there are the occasional horror stories of life in the orchestra pit at the Loretto-Hilton Center. The pit is notorious. I’ve been hearing tales of woe about it for years. Such as the dust that used to be swept into it. Or the time there was a pool on stage and water splashed onto the musicians and their instruments. It’s not called the pit for nothing.

Today, though, it’s the temperature-controlled, vast confines of the Powell Symphony Hall stage. Verdi. The shift to Webster and playing beneath those grand voices comes later. Art and artists endure, and prevail.

The wind doesn’t howl through the Powell elevator shaft. It emits an animal groan -- a bit ominous late on a Monday afternoon, storm clouds threatening.

Verdi rehearsals will be most welcome tomorrow.

The IN UNISON® Chorus and the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra perform A Black History Celebration: “Lift Every Voice and Sing” at Powell Symphony Hall at 7pm, Sunday, May 22. As this program was originally scheduled in February for Black History Month, I had written a Playbill article to commemorate In Unison’s 10-year anniversary. I’ve revised the article slightly for today’s blog.

A fragment of a conversation overheard in the wake of the percussion demonstration for second graders yesterday:

“So what do parents say when the kid comes home from school and says ‘I want to play the drums’?”

“At least it isn’t piccolo.”

“Hello Miss Megan” the three rows of second graders responded to a greeting from Megan Denell, a member of our Education and Community Partnership Program. Today we had two second grade classes visiting Powell Hall: a morning group from Dunbar Elementary and an afternoon group from Shaw Visual & Performing Arts Elementary. I sat in with the second group, who were treated to a percussion demonstration from SLSO percussionist Tom Stubbs and eight guest student musicians.

The demonstration was presented on the Powell stage, and after the children were over the Wow factor of the stage-eye view of the hall, and after Megan had directed them to “take your hands and rub your ears and get them all warmed up,” Stubbs and Co. took the children on a tour through the various instruments, the types of sounds they make, and how they combine to create various musical forms. Madeline Bertani, a percussion student and remarkably composed eighth grader, served as narrator. “The first item you get is a drum pad,” she began, and Micah Iticovici, son of SLSO violinist Silvian Iticovici, played a rhythm on the drum pad, and then advanced that same rhythm to the snare drum. Traci Clapper, daughter of stage hand Joe Clapper, demonstrated the timpani (a particularly hard word for second graders to say).

Stubbs joined a combo made up of Jacobs (Carly, Clark, and Conner) for a set with African rhythms, which got the second graders groovin. Not long after, the second graders began to display a little restlessness, but when the musicians joined for a jazz number, the children were transfixed. A hint to parents: play more jazz in the home.

During Q&A a child asked, “Why did you choose the drums?” Stubbs then set up the young Iticovici, whose father was in the auditorium. “Why did you choose the drums, Micah?” “I just really liked the sound.” “Why didn’t you choose violin?” “I didn’t like it very much.” Such is the cruelty of musical progeny.

Stubbs’ beginnings as a drummer, he told the audience, were also related to family. He is the youngest of five siblings, and when he came along every other instrument was taken. The family band needed a drummer. Before the assembled audience, Stubbs then picked up a shaker (that long cylinder that contains pellets that makes a rustling sound) and played a familiar, infectious rhythm. “This is how I started,” he said, “and fifty years later, I’m still doing the same thing.”

After a full day of double bass auditions yesterday, and the prospect of a full day of viola auditions today, David Robertson gathered up energy for a late meeting with a few of us to discuss education concerts next season. The key words that emerged from that discussion: participation, interaction, engagement, listening. Listening perhaps being the key that unlocks everything, so long as it is understood that listening is active participation. A good lesson for all audiences, from kinder to oldster.

At the end of the meeting, David stood up and smiled, “I went to the In Unison concert last night (the In Unison Chorus gave a community concert at Antioch Baptist Church Sunday evening). It was fantastic!” Another key word not to be neglected.

The young woman in the seat next to us on Sunday lifted her hands excitedly at the close of the first movement of the Sibelius, which concluded with bright colors flaring. With only a pause for breath before the orchestra coursed into the second movement, she held her hands together, and then let out a breath as the music moved on to other colors, textures, long sustained lines of breathless delight.

There were many such moments at Sunday’s season finale. The Brahms Tragic Overture was like a mini-symphony, a full course served on a slender table. The Strauss Four Last Songs, with Christine Brewer, touched on the sublime. She is a soprano who can sing the understated melancholy of the Strauss without overreaching, or for that matter underplaying, the bittersweet drama of age and decline and death. Brewer and Concertmaster David Halen sang a kind of duet between voice and violin that carried with it a yearning: to remain amidst the beauty of the world even as the senses fade. The slow, unhurried tempo that David Robertson and the orchestra sustained over the final measures carried within it a similar urgency: like life, you didn't want it to end.

And so, as my wife told me she didn’t want the final movement of the Sibelius Five to end, the season ended. And there was John Sant’Ambrogio (principal cello) and Marc Gordon (English horn) and Roger Davenport (trombone) on stage with the orchestra for the last time. There was the exhilaration of the future – DR joined the applause of the audience with a quick stomping of his feet in celebration of the musicians he will begin to fully lead this September -- and the sorrow of the present (and presence) turning to history. Bittersweet sorrow, for sure, as farewells offered after such an intimate bond between musicians and audience can be. Four Last Songs concludes with two piccolos singing in the darkness – a trilling that assures us it goes on.

The validation of which came this morning: the thunder of basses practicing before auditions began today.