Outside Perspective

Maybe I Like Mozart - Jennifer Pizzuto

My gripe with the music world at large is this: why is Mozart’s Symphony No. 30 so infrequently performed?  It is amazing, and I have a whole new appreciation for his music (though I still think Mozart was creepy).  I was re-reading my blog posts from last season, in which I had incessantly complained about my inability to “connect” with Mozart’s music—even going so far as to say that I wanted to “duke it out” with him.  (And since he has been gone for a very long time, I needn’t worry about any annoying restraining orders.)  It feels like the kind of music that one is supposed to enjoy, though I’ve had difficulty…but perhaps that’s just in regard to his “serious” compositions.  Symphony No. 30 is a fun piece of work that, in my own mind, had little or no expectation for anything more. 

Maybe I’ll never actually say that I *heart* Mozart, but I think I can relate to him, or at least to his early works.  I can imagine Mozart living in Salzburg, among his many friends and admirers, experimenting and writing brilliant works like this one, striving to find his musical niche.  Trying to find oneself is something to which we all can relate.  I can see Mozart having the time of his life while writing this, and loving it. 

And then there’s Ms. Chee-Yun, who ripped out my heart and tossed it onto Penn Avenue.  Her wailing violin evoked emotions that made me want to either spiral into despair, or soar to the heights of unequivocal bliss.  Mendelssohn’s Concerto in E minor is a brilliant piece of work.  It has been a very long time since I’ve been as engaged with a performance as I was with this one.  There were moments when I wanted to weep (and, I assure you, I am far from being the weepy type).  Cheen-Yun was absolutely dazzling.  I wish that I’d gotten her autograph.

As a side note, I was pleased to see that Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 5 will be performed this weekend at the PSO.  The subtitle for the performance is “Zoroastrian Riddles.”  It was derived from a story about Mozart, in which he dressed up as the Persian philosopher, Zoroaster, and handed out pamphlets with riddles and proverbs.  Tell me that’s not completely creepy…but at least the music will be entertaining.

Maya Angelou's Dining Room Table - Jennifer Pizzuto

This is how I’ve pictured it: composer Richard Danielpour, having asked Maya Angelou to create a cycle of poems that depict the course of a woman’s life, sits at her ornate and beautiful dining room table.  While holding her guests’ hands, Dr. Angelou softly and eloquently reads her works of art and nourishes the hungry souls before her.  The powerful echo of a soprano lingers in the room, as all who are present imagine Angela Brown’s voice singing these works for audiences as delicately as a mother blows bubbles for her children.

Since it would be extremely inconvenient for Dr. Angelou to entertain large audiences in her dining room, hearing Angela Brown relay Danielpour’s interpretation is the next best option.  Knowing that Dr. Angelou’s poems always stand well on their own, adding music and a soprano was a risky move.  Overall, I think that it worked.  Brown’s mighty voice guided us through the progression of a woman’s emotional and spiritual life, from the ignorance of a young girl, blissfully and arrogantly unafraid of life, to the wisdom of a mature lady, who finally understands true love.  The only moment that seemed awkward to me was during the first poem, “Little Girl Speakings.”  The music was very somber and did not quite fit the chirpy and precocious narrator.  Bottom line: I love Maya Angelou and I love the symphony, so I was a very pleased little lady during this performance.

And speaking of Maya Angelou, she has quite the affinity for the classics.  (I don’t really know that—I’m just grasping for an easy transition.)  Assuming that she enjoys them, Dr. Angelou probably has Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick sitting somewhere in her library.  And she probably liked the book more than I did.  Though I respect the allegorical themes in the novel (man v. nature, man v. God, man v. self, etc.), I hated the belabored descriptions of the boat and the whaling industry.  Much to my surprise and relief, I loved Peter Mennin’s Concertato for Orchestra.  Menin said that it “depicts the emotional impact of the novel as a whole rather than musically describing isolated incidents occurring in the novel.”  And it did.  The music was extremely emotional, taking the listener to new heights at every turn.  It maintained the allegorical effect without the copious details.

It almost inspired me to read Moby Dick again.  Almost.

A Little Silence, A Little Nature - Jennifer Pizzuto

It’s noisy out there, isn’t it?  In the wake of the G20 Summit and the melodrama of our own lives, even silence sounds garishly strident and pulsating.  So many of us are nursing broken hearts and facing new hardships in these challenging times.  Needless to say, I was both surprised and pleased by the heavy attendance at Heinz Hall for Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons—I have never before witnessed the “will call” line extend around the block.  The PSO may have struck a chord (pun completely, albeit predictably, intended) with its “Inspired by Nature” project.  For those of us who are seeking a respite from all that binds, confuses and frustrates us, an escape to the pureness and beauty of nature may be just what the doctor ordered.

 

Endlessly droning about life’s difficulties is extremely redundant and uninspiring; the PSO could have easily required me to go through luggage check, for all of the personal emotional baggage that I had hauled to the performance.  When the music started, though, it just didn’t matter.  Every person sitting in Heinz Hall, young or old, rich or poor, musician or spectator, during any given performance on any given day, carries her/his own burdens.  If we are able to allow it, they are eased, even momentarily, through music.   Broken hearts, economic pressures and trepidation about the future all dissipated the moment that Mr. Cardenes expertly and confidently began to conduct.  And as the musicians surely poured their souls into the profoundly intricate melodies, so I trustingly placed my soul into their care.  A wise decision, indeed; as the music took me through the pluckiness of Poulenc, the somberness of Tchaikovsky and, finally, epic cyclical wonder that is The Four Seasons, I found the escape for which I was so desperately searching.

 

A vacation for the mind and soul, sans the annoying baggage surcharges and removal of shoes—does it get any better?

Pops Preview: Acrobats, Beatles and Marvin Hamlisch - Jennifer Pizzuto

Some random quotes from the Pops preview concert on Tuesday evening: “Yes, Calvin Coolidge is dead;” “That cereal looks really good—you kids need to learn how to share;” and of course, the classic, “I wanted to be an acrobat, but the PSO’s insurance won’t cover it.”  I guess last night’s show was like a box of chocolates…never mind.

I was tweeting like a fiend yesterday during the concert because, yes, I am that obnoxious chick who is too self-important to turn off her BlackBerry.  Actually, I was creating Twitter feed about the goings-on in the Pittsburgh Pops world, as I did this summer during Video Games Live (which was a wonderful show, by the way—I was inspired to dust off my Nintendo and save the Princess again).  Even if you couldn’t be at Heinz Hall Tuesday night, you could still live vicariously through me (@snark_princess).  If that’s something you’d actually desire.   I really love the fact that the PSO is embracing the Twitter-verse and allowing me to tweet my eccentric ramblings during the show.  I hope that they’ll allow me to do so again for future concerts.

Speaking of future concerts, this season looks to be wildly entertaining.  And guess who will be visiting Heinz Hall in October?  It’s none other than Shirley Jones…and my heart screams, “Mama!”  I’ve always secretly wished that she would adopt me and help me form a groovy pop band; I’ll settle instead for seeing her in the Pops’ version of The Music Man.

We were treated to a taste of everything that’s forthcoming in this year’s Pops season.  I am eagerly anticipating the Beatles Medley show, and of course, the Holiday Pops concert. Also on tap this season is the intriguing Cirque de la Symphonie.  There are going to be dancers and acrobats and contortionists—I’m so in.  Vocalist Gary Mauer treated us to spectacular versions of “Music of the Night” from Phantom of the Opera and “This is the Moment” from Jekyll and Hyde, both songs were preludes to February’s best of Broadway performance.  Maybe there will be some Mamma Mia mixed in, as well?  Please?

And by the way, Marvin Hamlisch—as amazingly talented as you are musically, I don’t have much confidence in your abilities as an acrobat.  But I’d love to be proven wrong.

"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.

From Russia to Beverly Hills - Jennifer Pizzuto

This week, I’ve made no less than three frustratingly pathetic attempts to blog about Rachmaninoff; for some reason, I found it ridiculously difficult to write about his music.  Although I enjoyed the performances of Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini and Spring (Vesna) Cantata very much, I could not easily translate my thoughts into coherent blog material (not that lack of coherency has ever stopped me from publishing blog entries before, but stay with me here).  It may have been because Serge Rachmaninoff’s music is beautiful and complex, just like the feelings that it evoked for me, and words of won’t ever be adequate.  It have been because I attempted to write portions of my blog while I was driving and, in doing so, almost wrecked my car…but it was in the name of creativity, right? 

 

If you have the opportunity to attend the finale of the Rachmaninoff Festival on 4/17-4/19, you certainly will not be disappointed.  The first weekend of the festival was brilliant.  I was deeply moved by the PSO’s performance of Paganini.  It was like my favorite type of coffee—bold and full-bodied.  I felt the musical caffeine pulse through my veins and indulge my surreptitious penchant for all things Russian.

To that end, I’ve always possessed an intense adoration for Rachmaninoff.  His career was precarious and complex, which is to be expected of a man who was born in Russia and died in Beverly Hills.  He must have experienced a great deal between the two extremes.  Rachmaninoff encompassed the talents of pianist/composer/conductor, and could convey the complexity of his own life via his numerous musical outlets.  His works are uniquely intricate and awe-inspiring. 

 

There are few musical experiences that can compare to Rachmaninoff when his music is played well; however, if the music is simply average, or worse, Rachmaninoff can be horrendously terrible, which presents a certain danger in performing it.  Not surprisingly, the PSO handled Rachmaninoff masterfully, as did the guest pianist, Simon Trpceski.  He has been dubbed by the Seattle Times as “the best thing to come out of Macedonia since Alexander the Great.”  I’ll second that—Mr. Trpceski was amazing, playing Paganini, as though it was as inherent to him as breathing.  I dare say that Rachmaninoff himself would have been very pleased.  It made me wonder what inspires such talent… 

John Adams, Electricity and Orange Dresses - Jennifer Pizzuto

My apologies, firstly, for the tardiness of this blog post.  Life got in the way this week (as did a few too many green beers), and it hampered my “creative abilities.”  To that end, the engaging nature, and the way that the experience was nearly as fulfilling upon reflection, was freakish, albeit pleasant, happenstance.  Like a computer from 1984, I needed time to process and fully comprehend all of the intended meaning in last weekend’s performance.  And this is what I’ve surmised…

Con Moto and Dreamy Fauns - Jennifer Pizzuto

One thing is for certain: Yuja Wang played con moto on Saturday evening. Literally. The music notwithstanding (and it was phenomenal), just watching Ms. Wang play was a sight to behold. Her performance rendered one of life’s meta-moments, during which I could observe myself becoming enhanced by the music and the passion, and I intrinsically understood that something amazing was happening. The power that Ms. Wang rendered was great in its sheer magnitude—so much, in fact, that many of the orchestra members’ jaws hit the floor in awe, as well.

That said, it truly takes a brilliant talent to take on Sergei Prokofiev’s discordant Piano Concerto No. 2. It was unlike anything I’ve experienced thus far at the symphony.. The chords were borderline strident, almost in an effort to incense the listener…just because. Juxtaposed with the comparatively tame work of Igor Stravinsky, whose Concerto in E-flat Major was “nice,” like a trinket one would find at Grandma’s house—very lovely to look at, but not useful for much beyond that. Prokofiev’s Concerto No. 2, however, sounded tweaky (yes, it’s a word!), plucky and sour. He clearly intended to provoke emotion—any emotion, positive or otherwise—in his listeners. And I love that…anything that is intended to rile a response earns my respect. For her part, Ms. Wang embraced this concept and played it to the hilt, frantically pounding the chords that Prokofiev so deliberately penned with flair. She was perpetually in motion, impeccably channeling her muses like sugar to help us digest the prickly discord that Prokofiev had intended.

And we even received an encore.

Conversely, Claude Debussy’s Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune (The Afternoon of a Faun) was languid and drowsy. It was the lazy, drunken faun’s version of Disney’s Fantasia…sans the insipid wizard and mouse, of course. After the symphony’s conclusion, I found Stephan Mallarmé’s poem, by which Debussy was inspired. (I have a nerdy penchant for French poetry—don’t hate.) It, too, was languorous and dozy, perfectly mirroring its musical counterpart. If I’m ever fortunate enough to hear this piece performed again, I would love to read Mallarmé’s poem while absorbing Debussy’s somnolent notes. It was akin to experiencing the synchronicity of Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon and The Wizard of Oz. But sober.

The PSO Saved My Life...or Just Showed Me a Really Good Time - Jennifer Pizzuto

need to find out who is writing the program notes--they’re hysterical!  [editor's note: Mark Rohr]  I was indulging in a bit of pre-concert preparation (i.e. frantically reading the program three minutes prior to the performance for background) and stumbled upon this little gem: “[Carmina burana] is a collection of some 250 poems left by the goliards, itinerant clerics and scholars who rejected what the church had become and concerned themselves instead with earthly delights.  Today we might call them college dropouts.”  So entertaining, yet so very true.

I absolutely adored Carmina burana.  It reminded me of "The Miller’s Tale" in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales with its primal, lusty nature.  I love that Carmina is impeccably human and makes no apology for it.  The symphony and Mendelssohn Choir gave me chills from the very beginning of “O Fortuna.”  I feel as though I should have experienced Carmina already (several times), as it is so powerful.  It’s absolutely hypnotic; I did not, at any point, find myself thinking about anything other than the poetry and the music.  This is quite remarkable, considering that I tend to have the attention span of a flea.  The soloists gave breath to poetry that is already vivacious and effervescent.  The music was accented with sexual tension and was blatantly frisky (fabulous job, symphony!).  If I smoked, I would blown through an entire pack of cigarettes.  And the lyrics…they are works of art.  If Facebook didn’t threaten to own my soul already, I would post some of them.

Cynthia DeAlmeida is an oboe rock star.   The arms of the music that she played reached out and massaged my soul; the troubles of the day ebbed for a moment and I was left with total serenity.  Along that line, I’d discovered another very interesting program note during my hasty pre-performance “research.”  DeAlmeida was featured on the CBS “Early Show” in 2003, where she discussed the surprising health benefits that the oboe has for asthma suffers.  Her music actually inspired an asthmatic patient, who was on the brink of death, to play the oboe.  His practice strengthened his lungs and saved his life.  Cynthia, you’re an oboe superstar, that is what you are.

The symphony saves my life in small way every time I attend, simply by providing a momentary respite from my chaotic existence.  And for that, I am truly thankful.

From the Steelers to Montero - Jennifer Pizzuto

Ah, Gershwin. You make me want to put on my Sunday clothes and audition for local theater.  Gershwin’s pieces are so unmistakable and unique—when it’s Gershwin that you’re listening to, you know it.  The music is infectious and sprightly, usually a tangy little mix of flair and lighthearted joy.  It is energy in musical form; it made my heart sing, as only the symphony and Gershwin can.  Gabriela Montero and the symphony complemented each other brilliantly.

 

Montero’s musical arsenal was loaded with magic on Saturday night.  The sage little pianist learned—quickly—that the surest way to Pittsburgh’s heart is through its Super Bowl-bound Steelers.  Montero dazzled Saturday’s audience with an inspiring, impromptu rendition of “Here We Go Steelers.”  Montero’s version was a far cry from the way I usually listen to it—slightly muffled by black and gold fuzzy earmuffs and a beer haze so thick, it requires a sledge hammer to crack it.

That she was able to pluck out the melody after listening to the audience “sing” it speaks to Montero’s extraordinary talent.  From the simple “Here We Go” tune, Montero waved her magic wand and created a lavishly eloquent musical work of art; it truly would have made even the toughest of Steeler fans wipe his eye with the sacred Terrible Towel. 

 

And the surprises kept coming…Montero, and three other PSO musicians, performed “Air and Simple Gifts” from the presidential inauguration.  It was extremely moving.  The music signified the history that our country had witnessed this past week.  No matter which side of aisle one might reside, the experience brought back the historic inauguration with vitality and flair.  Saturday’s performance truly encapsulated the ubiquitous excitement of political change and Super Bowl fever.

 

The improv was such a unique treat…I enjoyed every minute of the performance.  I can’t wait to see what the symphony has in store for forthcoming performances…