seen but not quite heard

who: met orchestra, james levine (cond.), lang lang (solo)
what: stravinsky's petroushka and brahms' piano concerto no. 1 (d minor)
where: carnegie hall
when: thursday, may 21, 8 p.m.

sneaking in the back gives me the sensation of being a phantom, a nobody. we stood for the fist scene or so of petroushka, in the center back, behind the press section. the near-silence, neighbors quaking and gaping at extraneous sounds, heightened the already-present reverie (reverence, would you say?). it was as if i was seeing an old familiar cartoon in vibrant technicolor: suddenly folk tunes (trumpet, clarinet, melancholy english horn) sprang from the underlying texture...the brass truly outdid themselves tonight. this orchestra has an absolutely hypnotic way of executing a score. levine is masterful, without a doubt, but what is most magical is that the orchestra leads him. like most collaborative pieces with diaghilev and the ballet russe, there is a certain snicker and wink to the ending, as if stravinsky fell off that particular horse, an ADD, musically collaging folk hero onto his next quest mid-voyage.

after glimpsing the petites luxes of patron life (nuts! free wine! coffee! tea! and idle chatter with the other supremely rich!) during intermission, we assumed our spots in the back (i perched on a stool) for lang lang's performance of brahms' first piano concerto in d minor.

ok-yes, fair readers, i tend to gush with trite praise...lang lang's first movement - all ozawa-esque hair a-flying, big diving arms, stern pedal stopming - all seemed to me a bit superstar contrived. he's famous, brilliant, etc and not for nothing: he puts on a show. before the second movement, as i braced myself for a semi-slaughter, the orchestra took a collective breath and drifted into a dreamscape of bittersweet romance tinged with melancholy - as acknowledged in the program notes, brahms wrote the adagio for clara schumann; both were devestated following robert's suicide attempt, subsequent hospitalization and eventual death. he pined harmonically, waxing contrapuntally poetic, exploiting the enharmonic possibilities of leading tones - a certain method of seduction that would've had me hooked.

still, despite all of the gorgeous playing between soloist and orchestra, i wish that lang lang had tempered the sf accents more; witholding (clearly) takes infinetely more patience and control, akin to masking any possible tell in poker. the third and final movement, a rambunctious rondo, was clean and brilliant, yet somehow left me cold. great playing all around - the orchestra seemed to enjoy a good roll in the hay with symphonic repertoire...

and oh, those acoustics. the winds and brass were spot on, and the timpani magically aligned with lang lang at all the right moments.

brava, tutti.

ahoy!

ever since my days as a dj on wobc, i have engaged in a romance with radio. particularly poignant: from the first of this month, return to the scene of the crime, "this american life" (p.r.i.)

i ate lunch with my ever-hilarious chums at l'escale yesterday - a glass of california pinot noir with an app of warm goat cheese and roasted beet salad, followed by a short rib panini (decadent but delicious!). we shared a dessert of fried bananas, caramel sauce, and banana ice cream (yum yum).

i drove into manhattan for a last lesson with tara before i head out of town for the summer. she's taking two sewing machines plus ample fabric from mood to make funky, loud shirts and gowns on the road to spoleto (south carolina). danny's bringing a bunch of coffee makers- i guess we all have our fixes...

i dropped by tj's to buy some sausages and boysenberry fruit leather and then texted google for the address of ltk in greenwich. oh, green curry...

Jenny Holzer: Protect Protect, including “Red Yellow Looming,” above, is at the Whitney Museum of American Art through May 31. 

carnegie hall orphéeic magic

monday evening i snuck some photos of the stage at carnegie hall (3rd row!) - no musicians or stage lights, just the empty stage. the haydn symphony was dazzlingly clean. seeing orpheus makes me wonder why we all can't conceive of orchestral music as glorified chamber music! the musical ideas for each piece are generated by "core" members of he orchestra, and the act of listening is so intense and intimate that it almost feels selfish to spend money on a ticket. it's not so much about owning the music, but rather about respecting eachother's musical space.

the rorem set was wonderful to see if only for the fact that a singer was leading a small orchestra! a personal favorite was the final song, "alleluia" - jauntily and slyly employing mixed meters reminisent of neo-classical stravinsky with the trasparency of early ives. sitting so close to susan graham was a little unnerving: at the start of the set, she seemed stiff, stoic; by the middle, however, she was completely in character, balls to the wall, unbeatable. after intermission, ravel's pavane for a dead princess, led by cal wiersma, was absolutely gorgeous in a hauntingly effusive way.

todd phillips led a romping rendition of stravinsky's danses concertantes, which explicitly reminded me of the octet and symphony in c.

i met up with my luminous pal clio for hot chocolate made with milk (yumm) and a split piece of cheesecake (though we thought it needed something tart and fruity, not caramel sauce, as a finishing glaze).

new york minute

i left my cell phone in a cab today outside the whitney, and by some miracle a very kind guy was able to meet me at a bar on the upper east side to return it.

New York, like Paris, is conceptualized in terms of one's proximity to a subway stop: take the train to 87th, walk over a few blocks, turn south and walk down some more. at some point i stop taking everything in to focus on my destination. street corners blur together, cabs honk and swerve without identity, random strangers meet eachother's glances - smile, scowl.

i realize what i crave about New York is the sense of utter possibility of having an audience, sharing art, n'importe quand, n'importe où. people, faces drift through the city like singularly unique cirrus clouds, somehow crystallized yet mobile. maybe that's why people stare so openly on the train: they are finally able to focus on a single face, to register the harmonious (or un-) features so artfully combined - the way people comport themselves is endlessly fascinating, from incredibly think eyebrows to a proad emasculating squaring of the shoulders.

p.s.

this is my corner of the internet sky, so comment away, mes amants.

listen listen

last weekend (i'm late!) was the look&listen festival...i saw some great art at ok harris and gary snyder/project space, met some stellar personalities - the inimitable mark stewart and fresh face victoria bass of bang on a can all-stars; the charming and musically eloquent jade simmons and svet stoyanov; blogger extra-ordinaires bruce hodges and karissa krenz; so percussion (and their fifth member, luca); fascinating violinist todd reynolds. i wonder, though: does it get lonely, this pursuit?

someday i'll have screenshots, a fleshed-out resume, a bio to speak of. this summer i look forward to some RENCONTRES DE MUSIQUE NOUVELLE avec martin matalon (argentine/IRCAM), denys boulianne, jean lesage, et le NEM (montréal). je suis flûtiste, entendez-moi hurler!

tomorrow i hit carnegie hall for orpheus + susan graham in concert...it pays to be friends on facebook!

maybe karissa is right - that you have to post at least a few times per week for anyone to pay attention. i might be m.i.a. for a spell this summer, but i will do my best (unconscious reference to fox's "dollhouse").

current fixations: herbie hancock's joni letters; issue 07; short films made by people i know; performances involving lamps and interesting distortion effects; simple, clean design; the idea that maybe, someday soon, i will be gainfully employed.

this is the face of dreamy contentment, one reconciled to the fact that it couldn't get much better.