My ‘puter woes continue in the wake of my recent laptop loss (by theft): I’m reduced to commandeering my roommate’s old dinosaur of a PC to work on from home — and all it’s got is wordpad. Forgive me if I omit some of those fancy accent marks and assorted squiggles that go with exotic foreign artist or composer names: wordpad ain’t got em! To boot, surfing for links is prohibitively time-consuming when you’re operating at dial-up speed. And your trusty Eargasm hunter has no time during Spoleto to shop for fresh software or a new machine. Does anybody out there know of an up-and-running, wi-fi-capable laptop that I could rent, borrow (or steal) for the rest of the festival?
Oh — and if you’d care to peruse my rave review of last night’s Westminster Choir concert, click HERE.
I was running late for this morning’s Chamber Program VI at the Memminger, but got there in the nick. This time, my perch was waay back in the nosebleed section — but the sharp acoustics still carried well from a distance.
Dr. Wadsworth and friends got things going with a number by the contemporary “American Romantic” composer Lowell lieberson (at least that’s what Dr. Wadsworth called him): his Sonata for Flute and Piano. Doc W commisssioned it for the festival awhile back: flute goddess Paula Robison and French piano whiz Jean-Yves Thibaudet presented it’s world premiere at Spoleto 20 years ago (1988). Its opening Largo movement used very simple means to achieve an aura of melancholic mystery: a soft, sad flute melody hovering over stark broken triads from the piano — before a tense and pounding middle section interrupted.
And boy, wotta mood swing in the second (and final) ‘Presto energico’ movement — with the flute’s mad chase turning the earlier sense of mystery into frenzied tension. Tara Helen O’Connor (she’s a flute goddess, too) managed nearly superhuman feats of embrochure and breath control, and pianist Pedja Muzijevic’s sensitive and powerful collaboration rounded out a truly dynamic duo.
But the program’s second (and final) work was by far the main event: Franz Schubert’s massive Octet in F Major, D. 803 (six movements, running around an hour). It’s also kinda massive instrumentally, it’s eight instruments stretching the chamber genre’s limits.
Before I gush about it, let me digress long enough to share a classic Wadsworth pun. While addressing the topic of BIG chamber ensembles, he mentioned his (ahem!) intent to commission a work for nine players from the Italian composer Luigi Nono — giving him the chance to introduce to the world the “Nono Nonet.” (Groan!) If you’re under fifty, that one just may have gone over (or behind) your head.
But back to the sacred matter (to me) of Schubert: this is one of his supreme late chamber works, written not too long before his outrageous demise at the age of 31. Let’s get the instrument/player roster out of the way (I’ve told you about them all in recent posts). From stage left: Scott St. John (violin 1), Geoff Nuttall (violin 2), Lesley Robertson (viola), Edward Arron (cello), Tony Manzo (double bass), Eric Ruske (horn), Peter Kolkay (bassoon) and Todd Palmer (clarinet). The main reason you never hear this marvelous monster in concert is the sheer difficulty of rounding up enough top-notch musicians to do it full justice. Kudos to Geoff Nuttall for putting together this stellar team — ’cause they done GOOOOD.
In case you didn’t read my intro post (far below), I had the fabulous good fortune to grow up in Vienna — Schubert’s hometown — and I’ve been singing, playing and collecting his music ever since. The reason I make this claim is that there’s a certain unique Viennese quality to his music that only somebody who’s lived there can ever fully discern. The German word for it is “Gemuetlichkeit,” a term you can’t really translate. It signifies a certain easy, laid-back attitude (What? Me, worry?) that the good natives of Vienna have cultivated for centuries — and you don’t catch its drift until you’ve been directly exposed to it for awhile. You find it here and there in the music of all the great Viennese masters: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Johann Strauss — even Brahms. But none of them approach Schubert’s level of Gemuetlichkeit. And since that’s the very glue that holds this number together, I thought I’d better tell you about it.
I won’t attempt to drag you through all six movements. It was a glorious hour of buoyant high spirits — leavened by the occasional dramatic episode or sad little interlude. Schubert was Western music’s ultimate manic-depressive (well, except maybe for Mahler), and most of his late music is subject to wild mood-swings. He can take you from the darkest depths of despair to boundless joy in the same piece — or even the same movement. One of his favorite tricks is abrupt major-minor key shifts, leaving a twisted trail of fleeting, yet very intense emotions in their wake. And, no matter what the mood, he evokes it oh-so-beautifully, with his matchless penchant for melody and harmony. And you could catch all of the above in this sublime Octet — but, throughout it’s rambling course, the operative mood is still … well, Gemuetlichkeit!
The playing was simply stupendous. I caught only an itty-bitty rough spot or two: — stuff that only some geek who’s heard it dozens of times (like me) would notice. The mostly happy score gave everybody the chance to strut their stuff — and strut it grandly they did. Given the fact that Schubert (in case you haven’t guessed) is my favorite composer, this has to go down as my favorite among the Chamber programs thus far. And there’s more sublime Schubert to come — I’ll tell you about it when its time draws nigh.
I’ll just have to make you wait ’til tomorrow for my post on today’s second event — a nifty Music in Time concert (Program IV). I’m just about brain-dead, and have already inflicted enough spaced-out gibberish upon you for one day.
Choicest Chamber Yet
My ‘puter woes continue in the wake of my recent laptop loss (by theft): I’m reduced to commandeering my roommate’s old dinosaur of a PC to work on from home — and all it’s got is wordpad. Forgive me if I omit some of those fancy accent marks and assorted squiggles that go with exotic foreign artist or composer names: wordpad ain’t got em! To boot, surfing for links is prohibitively time-consuming when you’re operating at dial-up speed. And your trusty Eargasm hunter has no time during Spoleto to shop for fresh software or a new machine. Does anybody out there know of an up-and-running, wi-fi-capable laptop that I could rent, borrow (or steal) for the rest of the festival?
Oh — and if you’d care to peruse my rave review of last night’s Westminster Choir concert, click HERE.
I was running late for this morning’s Chamber Program VI at the Memminger, but got there in the nick. This time, my perch was waay back in the nosebleed section — but the sharp acoustics still carried well from a distance.
Dr. Wadsworth and friends got things going with a number by the contemporary “American Romantic” composer Lowell lieberson (at least that’s what Dr. Wadsworth called him): his Sonata for Flute and Piano. Doc W commisssioned it for the festival awhile back: flute goddess Paula Robison and French piano whiz Jean-Yves Thibaudet presented it’s world premiere at Spoleto 20 years ago (1988). Its opening Largo movement used very simple means to achieve an aura of melancholic mystery: a soft, sad flute melody hovering over stark broken triads from the piano — before a tense and pounding middle section interrupted.
And boy, wotta mood swing in the second (and final) ‘Presto energico’ movement — with the flute’s mad chase turning the earlier sense of mystery into frenzied tension. Tara Helen O’Connor (she’s a flute goddess, too) managed nearly superhuman feats of embrochure and breath control, and pianist Pedja Muzijevic’s sensitive and powerful collaboration rounded out a truly dynamic duo.
But the program’s second (and final) work was by far the main event: Franz Schubert’s massive Octet in F Major, D. 803 (six movements, running around an hour). It’s also kinda massive instrumentally, it’s eight instruments stretching the chamber genre’s limits.
Before I gush about it, let me digress long enough to share a classic Wadsworth pun. While addressing the topic of BIG chamber ensembles, he mentioned his (ahem!) intent to commission a work for nine players from the Italian composer Luigi Nono — giving him the chance to introduce to the world the “Nono Nonet.” (Groan!) If you’re under fifty, that one just may have gone over (or behind) your head.
But back to the sacred matter (to me) of Schubert: this is one of his supreme late chamber works, written not too long before his outrageous demise at the age of 31. Let’s get the instrument/player roster out of the way (I’ve told you about them all in recent posts). From stage left: Scott St. John (violin 1), Geoff Nuttall (violin 2), Lesley Robertson (viola), Edward Arron (cello), Tony Manzo (double bass), Eric Ruske (horn), Peter Kolkay (bassoon) and Todd Palmer (clarinet). The main reason you never hear this marvelous monster in concert is the sheer difficulty of rounding up enough top-notch musicians to do it full justice. Kudos to Geoff Nuttall for putting together this stellar team — ’cause they done GOOOOD.
In case you didn’t read my intro post (far below), I had the fabulous good fortune to grow up in Vienna — Schubert’s hometown — and I’ve been singing, playing and collecting his music ever since. The reason I make this claim is that there’s a certain unique Viennese quality to his music that only somebody who’s lived there can ever fully discern. The German word for it is “Gemuetlichkeit,” a term you can’t really translate. It signifies a certain easy, laid-back attitude (What? Me, worry?) that the good natives of Vienna have cultivated for centuries — and you don’t catch its drift until you’ve been directly exposed to it for awhile. You find it here and there in the music of all the great Viennese masters: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Johann Strauss — even Brahms. But none of them approach Schubert’s level of Gemuetlichkeit. And since that’s the very glue that holds this number together, I thought I’d better tell you about it.
I won’t attempt to drag you through all six movements. It was a glorious hour of buoyant high spirits — leavened by the occasional dramatic episode or sad little interlude. Schubert was Western music’s ultimate manic-depressive (well, except maybe for Mahler), and most of his late music is subject to wild mood-swings. He can take you from the darkest depths of despair to boundless joy in the same piece — or even the same movement. One of his favorite tricks is abrupt major-minor key shifts, leaving a twisted trail of fleeting, yet very intense emotions in their wake. And, no matter what the mood, he evokes it oh-so-beautifully, with his matchless penchant for melody and harmony. And you could catch all of the above in this sublime Octet — but, throughout it’s rambling course, the operative mood is still … well, Gemuetlichkeit!
The playing was simply stupendous. I caught only an itty-bitty rough spot or two: — stuff that only some geek who’s heard it dozens of times (like me) would notice. The mostly happy score gave everybody the chance to strut their stuff — and strut it grandly they did. Given the fact that Schubert (in case you haven’t guessed) is my favorite composer, this has to go down as my favorite among the Chamber programs thus far. And there’s more sublime Schubert to come — I’ll tell you about it when its time draws nigh.
I’ll just have to make you wait ’til tomorrow for my post on today’s second event — a nifty Music in Time concert (Program IV). I’m just about brain-dead, and have already inflicted enough spaced-out gibberish upon you for one day.