Outside Perspective

"Mr. Honeck, I *Heart* You!" - Jennifer Pizzuto

It’s a bit like a bad joke, really:  A certain pig-tailed blogger is walking down Penn Ave. when she happens to pass PSO Music Director Manfred Honeck.  Given that said blogger has absolutely zero tact and lacks any sense of social protocol, she immediately rushes up to Mr. Honeck and starts babbling incoherently about how she’s “such a fan” and that he is “so very talented.”  Mr. Honeck is slightly taken aback, but recovers in eloquent style and promises to read the humble ramblings of his starry-eyed, albeit slightly frightening, admirer.

Battling Perceptions - Justin Kownacki

Last weekend, before their departure to wow the audiences in China, I caught the PSO's performance with pianist Yefim Bronfman.  It was spirited stuff, with Bronfman's full-body musicality punctuating a program that merged Strauss, Mozart and Beethoven -- solid classics that any attendee would enjoy (or so it would seem -- more on that later).

Reception - Doug Bauman

The Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra was gracious in holding a reception in the Overlook room for all of the bloggers associated with the PSO blogs on May 2, 2009 after the concert conducted by Manfred Honeck. It was great to finally meet all of the others and to have some interesting conversations about the PSO and classical music. I held out hope that Honeck himself might drop by, but it was not to be. However, after the event was over, as we were exiting Heinz Hall, I looked back and saw Jennifer Pizzuto introducing herself to Manfred Honeck who had just exited the hall himself. They were both smiling, but I wasn't quick enough with my camera to capture the moment.

I want to thank Nicole Phillip who hosted the event, Kevin DeLuca, our contact and coordinator for the blogs, as well as the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.

PSO bloggers and friends - Jennifer Pizzuto(1), Matt Campbell(2), David DeAngelo(3), Cynthia Closkey(4), Elizabeth Perry(5), Justin Kownacki(6), Doug Bauman(7) and Louis Luangkesorn(8)

Legend:

The making of greatness - Louis Luangkesorn

I've been working with a student, steadily introducing him to the ways of our chosen profession.  And like many others who are learning their trade, it is turning into a steady stream of work for him to learn the foundations that his success will be built on.  And as I was listening to Mozart Concert No. 24 in C minor for Piano and Orchestra I was thinking of that.  The piano reminded me of the diligent student, engrossed in the details and intricacies of his work, while the orchestra seemed to be the friends at play.

David Brooks in the New York Times had a column on "Genius" earlier in the week.  And he is writing about this, of how the mastery of the art was reached through repetitive and deliberative work, specifically talking about Mozart.  While I can see why the romantic idea of genius as something genetic is appealing, I never felt the idea of Athena springing forth mature from the head of Zeus to be something to strive for.  And how especially true it must be for music.  Writing this now, I still have an image of Bronfman playing completely focused.  Or our marathoners this weekend, most of whom should have started their training while there was still snow on the ground, pounding pavement in the cold and the dark, knowing that this weekend would come.  So much of our trade is built on many hours of building up the foundation that enables us to make something great.

There are many areas where years of training and exercise build into performance on the stage of life.  It is true is music, running, mathematics.  It can be seen in the firefighters I work with responding to fires, the police officer who brings everything they know to every contact with a citizen, and to the soldier and marine who must bring all they know when they talk to a villager, patrol a mountain, build a building, or engage an enemy.  And all this training and exercise is meant for they day that we go on stage, take to the field, or explore an unknown.

I was talking after the concert to one of the PSO staff who asked me if I was the one who went to Afghanistan.  Because her Marine brother was preparing for deployment.  And in addition to all the preparation and training that has come before and he is doing know, the family is preparing as well.  I do not know if he has deployed to war before, but either way, everything he knows in dealing with people will come into play, their motivations, their desires, and how to deal with them.  Semper fi.

conducting - Elizabeth Perry

Manfred Honeck conducting - so much to follow in his gestures. Watching him, I can see the shape of the music differently, as the baton shows me how to listen, what to notice.

Honeck and Beethoven, perfect together - Doug Bauman

Penny Anderson Brill, Viola, and musician of the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, introduced the concert on Saturday night at Heinz Hall. Her introduction was very much an appreciation, by the musicians, for the audience. The orchestra even gave the audience a round of applause. Her final tribute: "Thank you so much for all that you do for us and now I hope you enjoy the concert"

Manfred Honeck entered the stage, and after one bow, began conducting the composition: "Tod und Verklärung" by Richard Strauss. This was my first chance to hear this piece live. I remember being impressed by the low drums at the beginning. I began to think to myself, what does this music mean to me? I found the juxtaposition of the words in the title interesting: Death (first) then Transfiguration. Words and music have temporal meanings, and this time I thought perhaps that this music was supposed to represent death, as only a beginning, and the further meaning beyond, and a contemplation of what that concept might entail, without prior knowing. And transfiguration, coming after death, what could it be -- is it a higher place? Is it like Earth and Heaven, as opposed to Heaven and Earth -- does the order truly come in a sequential fashion, or is it a concept that transcends time, in a manner that we truly cannot easily perceive, yet. All these thoughts came to mind, and flowed through the music. This was truly a beautiful score, and one that I enjoyed; and even though this isn't the first time I've heard this music, it somehow seemed to be the first time for a true appreciation.

The piano concerto with soloist Yefim Bronfman, was the logical follow up to the previous piece, or at least that was my initial thought: that this was sort of like a transfiguration in and of itself. The drama in the introduction of the first movement was appealing. The bases and deeper harmony seemed to dominate, with the violins following suit. Then the piano joined it, and what followed was beautiful, in its entirety this Mozart Concerto Number 24 is one of my favorites.

To whoever I overheard exclaiming at intermission: 'I liked the piano concerto, but I didn't really like the first piece', I must urge you to give new music a chance. To sample new music over a period of years. I think this kind of music grows on you. If you give it a chance, someday you'll be coming to the concert for the prospect of finding new gems in the repertoire.

Next up: Honeck and Beethoven, a fitting combination. I watched, I saw Maestro Honeck conduct, then I truly saw. I saw his movements, his style, his interpretations, his pizazz, his mechanisms, his mind, and the music that was there, and it was beautiful.

Honeck has a particular style, but there is much more than that, it is a substance which spells in the universal language of classical music, and flourishes with abstract verve spun into specific directions for the orchestra and each and every musician. Honeck brings to me a splendid rendition of Beethoven's Symphony number seven, perhaps my favorite, if one can pick a favorite. This symphony opens with a long introduction to the first movement, like the first steps into a beautifully wooded landscape, then the full bodied movement eventually begins.

Honeck's motions sum up the conducting. Hand motions left and right, full sweeping motions back and forth representing increased volume, then for a softer quieter part, a straight upright posture and simple movements of the baton. The conductor has a knack for being soft spoken, and in movements, it's almost the same thing -- I seem to think he isn't moving all that much, his stature straight, and subtle, and tall, then suddenly, his round repeated motions of his arms and some subtle up and down of his body in a fluid and effective outpouring of physical emotion connect to the orchestra. They respond. The sound is perfect, like this symphony from Beethoven, the perfect symphony, the perfect orchestra, and the best conductor for the match: a great combination.

The second movement, one of the most touching movements I know, almost haunting, begins. It comes through this time with sublime effect. Now I think back to the connection of the music for this evening, the transfiguration. This movement is Beethoven's transfiguration, there is nothing else like it. It transcends my soul, goes deeper and evokes more emotion than any other music I know. The tempo is good, but I find myself wanting more, and it is over.

Now the third movement, what a change-up. It's all part of that theme again, the transfiguration: this time from the deeply moving to the presto, chango, and voila -- it's upbeat and moving along at a quicker pace, almost racing. Now its fun with sort of playful melodic sounds, it gets my feet tapping, and my legs moving, and I see the same with the conductor: he is hopping and moving and again animating the orchestra into this joyous music.

Finally we go from the quick to the fast, the final movement. It's really moving now, almost like a race. When I see Manfred Honeck conduct this movement, I truly begin to see a sort of link to Beethoven. And now I imagine what it must be like to see Beethoven, himself, conducting this symphony for the first time. And I hear it as well.

Honeck seems subtle, serious and deliberate, yet effective when conducting. After the music is done, he finally dons a smile so wide and brimming, it is  infectious, and this effect along with the beautiful music from the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra affects the entire audience as they simultaneously leap to their feet to applaud, faster than I've ever seen them go into a standing ovation before.  And we are rewarded with a symphonic encore, he and the PSO give us all a preview of the concert they will be playing on tour in a week in China. We get to hear the final movement of Haydn's Symphony No. 88, and a treat it was!

Strauss, Mozart and Beethoven - David DeAngelo

Outside, the Pirates were beating the Reds.  Inside, the PSO was playing the heck out of three masterworks; Tod und Verklärung of Richard Strauss, The D-minor Piano Concerto (with Yefim Bronfman, soloist) by Mozart, and the Beethoven 7^th Symphony.

Stunning.  Stunning performance.  From the first note to the last.  Just stunning.

It started with what must be be assumed was a subtle homage to both the musique concrete of the 20^th century AND the Baroque canonical counterpoint of the Renaissance.  Here's what happened: The audio of WQED's Jim Cunningham announcing to the audience to turn off their cell phones was played twice, with one "voice" over-lapping the other at an interval of a second or so - an electronic two voice canon at the unison!

Impressive.  Eclectic.  And kinda subversive, in an Edgard Varèse sort of way.

Then Violist Penny Brill came out and made a brief speech thanking the audience for its support this season and announcing that since the seating arrangements for the symphony had shifted and the violas were now deeply embedded in the middle of the stage, "This is probably the last you'll see of the violas, tonight," she lamented.  Violas, like Rodney Dangerfield, don't get no respect.  They're the Jan Bradys of the string section.  Perhaps of the whole orchestra.

On to the music.

Strauss described the "program" of Tod und Verklärung in a letter to his friend Frederick von Hausegger:

The idea occurred to me to represent the death of a person who had striven for the highest ideal goals, therefore very possibly an artist, in a tone poem. The sick man lies in bed asleep, breathing heavily and irregularly; agreeable dreams charm a smile onto his features in spite of his suffering; his sleep becomes lighter; he wakens; once again he is racked by terrible pain, his limbs shake with fever—as the attack draws to a close and the pain subsides he reflects on his past life, his childhood passes before him, his youth with its striving, its passions, and then, while pain resumes, the fruit of his path appears to him, the idea, the Ideal which he has tried to realize, to represent in his art, but which he has been unable to perfect, because it was not for any human being to perfect it. The hour of death approaches, the soul leaves the body, in order to find perfected in the most glorious form in the eternal cosmos that which he could not fulfill here on Earth.

With snippets of this description projected, mostly unnoticed, onto the two screens flanking the stage, the orchestra tuned and waited for Conductor Manfred Honeck.

And once upon the podium, baton in hand, hands raised, he began conducting.  It was stunning.  And when it was over, there was a lo-o-o-ng pause between when the orchestra ended and when Honeck's arms were lowered.  A moment of silence for "the artist" departed.  A sign of respect for the dead.

While we might think that such a piece would be depressing, we should remember that while he struggles, the artist only does so when alive.  Once his death comes and his transformation begins, the tone of the piece shifts.  The soul reunites with the Cosmos, with Schopenhauer's Will. The struggle is over, only eternal peace remains.  A most comforting thought when contemplating the passing of loved ones.

And Strauss wrote it down at 25.

The Mozart that followed, with Yefim Bronfman as soloist, was a joy.  Clear, precise.  Nuanced as only Mozart can be.  Bronfman encored (unannounced) with a movement from the second piano sonata of Sergei Prokofiev. 

Don't be impressed that I wrote that.  During intermission I had to track down Jim Cunningham to find out what Bronfman played.  But when he saw me, the first thing out of his mouth was, "So, did you know what that encore was?"  I had to admit that I was going to ask him the same thing.  Jim guessed Prokofiev.  I guessed, um, someone else entirely.  Luckily, calls were placed, queries made and answers given (thanks Nicole!). 

It was Prokofiev.  Opus 14, in D-minor.  Turns out it was the scherzo.  Not kidding.

There is little in the symphonic repertoire more exuberant than the Beethoven 7.  Kanny of the Trib raved:

Honeck's interpretation of Ludwig van Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 was as bold, detailed and imaginative as one hopes a music director's will be. The music is rhythmic and energetic, unless badly done, but Honeck's vitality was exceptional.

While Druckenbrod gushed:

...such was the vigor and energy that Honeck called for in every measure, from potent orchestra hits of the introduction to the rousing gallop to the end.

An amazing performance.  Followed by more exuberance in an encore: The last movement of the Haydn Symphony 88.  I found myself humming along.  I thought I was quiet but I learned with a quick but gentle jab to my ribs that my wife thought otherwise.

I stopped humming along.

Great performance, great music.  Not so great humming.

Rachmaninoff Festival Finale - Elizabeth Perry

I painted during the first half of the concert, delighting in Vocalise and Symphonic Dances. The Piano Concerto in the second half was... breathtaking. Another piece of music I'd never heard in person before. Until I hear a live performance I forget that the dynamic range in a real concert hall, the nuance and the power, are utterly compelling.