During the Coffee Concert on Friday morning, I was reminded of something David Robertson said about the Stravinsky Symphonies of Wind Instruments, but is an idea that fit the program as a whole: [it] "is like a mobile -- the different parts keep cming back to you as if they are floating, yet the overall form makes sense."
And so it was throughout the morning, with different melodies and harmonies to appear, evolve into something else, and then to reappear in a different guise. It was like being mesmerized by an Alexander Calder for a couple hours.
Leonidas Kavakos plays a Stradivarius made in the late 17th century -- and well he should.
In a moment of shameless commerce, I'm sending out this appeal to those of you who love musicians such as Neko Case or Brad Mehldau. Kavakos is one of those who takes the old forms, which too often seem tired, and reinvigorates and redefines them. He plays from a different place. For those of you who seek out art that comes out of the livelier tributaries, you need to hear Kavakos play Bartok. And the piece alone, with the composer's deranged folk rhythms and melodies, with the rattling of bows on wood, with an interchange between soloist and timpani, which then gets revised as a conversation between soloist and harp (!) -- it's a trip.
This concert has made my personal list of favorites of the season. I found the Reich to be sheer beauty. And afterward, the musicians go out into the auditorium to talk about it with you as the change for the Haydn goes on.
There were a number of students at the concert, and after the second movement of the Haydn, a few couldn't hold back. They applauded. David turned and said, "You had been showing such remarkable restraint. Haydn would have thought that he'd tanked."
Which was just right. Haydn wrote expecting applause between movements. I could barely contain myself after the first movement of the Bartok.
It's Saturday morning and I've said enough. Except for: Go!
