Outside Perspective

Reflections on Death - Louis Luangkesorn

At the beginning of Mozart's Requiem the Pittsburgh Symphony put a commentary noting that while Death was no stranger to Mozart's life, in modern U.S. society we have tried our hardest to make it a stranger to ours.  And I am not an exception.  While I have deployed to war, have been an volunteer EMT, regularly respond to fires and other disasters and take part in activities that entail some degree of risk, like the veteran cop who has never fired his service weapon in anger, I have not had anyone die on me (not for lack of some people trying).  So in a sense, I do not know how I will respond (but a line of counsellors are ready to talk to me when it does.)  And in my professional life, I regularly am faced with the fact that while society may cry out that it values life above all else, and that it refuses to put a price or limit on how much it would pay to keep life, that society indeed does put a price on life, and reacts badly when this is pointed out.

There is a community that does face its own mortality.  And is willing to write about it.  I follow the writing of blogs of soldiers and others involved in our wars in Afghanistan and Iraq on The Sandbox, a project of Gary Trudeau (Doonesbury).  Along with commentary about the absurd in daily life that is common to every first person account of war there are essays on fears, humor, relief, anguish, and sometimes the understanding that this is a serious business that can result in death.

And occasionally there is an essay by someone who has, like Mozart, prepared for his own mortality.  The willingness to acknowledge who you were.  Realizing that you had long passed the point where dreams were there for you to reach, but that you have accomplished something in life, and it was worthy of having lived (for most of these writers).  A thankfulness for those who you were privileged to live your life alongside.  And a recognition that you probably did not deserve to have it so good.

My wife and I long since have recognized that some of the things I do are risky.  But it has been a choice that is a part of a rich life, full of joy, laughter, truth, and companionship that I would not trade for the safety and comfort of a life spent in fear and worry.  Already, I have had opportunity to pass on lessons to others who do the same.  And while there are no guarantees in this sort of thing, we treasure the memories and stories that we have been able to add to our families histories.

Anticipation and joy - Louis Luangkesorn

My wife and I came to this weekend's concert with a friend and her young daughter.  The whole week, she has been looking forward to the chance to go to the symphony, the music that she would hear, the dancers to see, the dress she would wear, the dresses that the musicians would wear, all part of the thrill of something that she had not experienced.

The evening did not disappoint.  We arrived early, because we knew that the Arthur Murray Dance company was having their demonstrations of the Waltz prior to the concert

We watched the dance class and demonstrations as they taught waltz and the polka.

As we got to our seats waiting for the concert to begin our friend was full of excitement, asking what all the instruments were, identifying the drums (timpani) various winds, violins. And she was asking about where the tuba was (answer: wait, it will come out later tonight). And wondering when the pianist was coming out (answer: when the lights dimmed). And then the lights dimmed. As Sa Chen played with the orchestra in the concerto, we listened to the richness of the playing. The focus on the richness of the part, not the difficulty of the part. Something that we get with some of the older and mature players instead of the display of raw talent we often get from those who are younger. And to our friend, instead of listening to something clearly beyond her level of playing, she listened to music in its richness and sensitive. Then with the waltzes and polka of the second half, she heard the joy and happiness of a celebratory feel of a Vienna in celebration (and the much awaited tuba made its appearance) We enjoyed the evening, having young friends experiencing the symphony. And other friends we had a chance to talk to throughout the evening, of holidays to enjoy, and milestones of life to celebrate over sweets and desserts.

Steadyness in chaos - Louis Luangkesorn

I was listening to Danielpour's Concerto for Orchestra and noticing the recurring theme as it passed from part to part, popping up in a variety of contexts.  Sometimes when the overall tone was almost melodious and sometimes when it was present in the midst of conflict and cacophony.  But always there, providing a foundation for all that was going on around this and proving itself adaptable in its many settings.

Among other things, I am teaching a class on disaster preparedness and response.  And one of the principles in preparedness is you have to have a framework that is usable in normal everyday situations and adaptable for all sorts of situations that can arise.  Because a plan of response that cannot adapt will never be used.  And here is a theme that somehow does the same, even as its environment and its place within the environment changes, the theme finds a place.  Sometimes up front.  Sometimes supporting.  But providing a unity to the piece along the way.  A good trait to have in a storm.

The lone individual in the crowd - Louis Luangkesorn

On my way to the concert, I was informed by one of the two piano professors I was attending the concert with about the story of the Symphonie fantastique, including the fact that this is the extreme example of programmatic music, to the point of including the interpretation of the music in the score.  And while I tend to favor programmatic music, I think actually telling me what it meant slightly oversimplifies things for my taste.  And (as my wife would tell you) I have no memory, so actually telling me what something means is slightly wasted.  (At my high school, all the smart kids took art appreciation.  I would have done very badly in such a class.) 

What I did hear was the tension between the individual and the crowd.  As the movements went on there were periods of the individual voice (the idee fix that popped up throughout the piece in different parts of the orchestra). Sometimes the individual voice was enthralled, sometimes depressed, sometimes light hearted, sometimes heavy.  And there was the crowd.  Sometimes detached.  Sometimes driving its own way.  And in the march, overwhelming.  LIstening to this, I wondered at the tension.  The tension of those who would wish to find their own path, who may start off as being treated with benign neglect by the crowd, but then can find themselves in direct conflict with an unforgiving multitude/mob.  With a chaotic end.

Of course, re-reading the program notes, I see that what I heard was similar and different then what was intended.  But if you make the claim that music and art are forms of communication, and the idea that interpreting a musical work is a collaboration between composer, performer and audience, then this was a delightful example.  Even if the attempts of two music professors was somewhat wasted on this leaky memory.

Mixing the media - Louis Luangkesorn

I've told my students that they need to learn how to ask questions about other people's work, because if they stay in our field, they will always be entering someone else's territory.  For all their skills and all they bring, they will always be entering someone else's environment, someone else's situation, someone else's world.  And when that is the case, the first steps are to prove to the other person that you are paying attention to them.  While you can ignore the guy on the ground if you happen to have authority behind you, you can get a lot further if the guy on the ground is convinced you are working for his interests.

I enjoy classical music because of its abstractions.  And that so many have chosen to take the challenge of actually communicating something within the abstractions and creating works with such range.  So I look upon pieces like Danielpour's collaboration with Maya Angelou with a somewhat skeptical eye.  Is it forcing something that does not need to be forced?  Or is it that the music could not stand on its own, and needed to vocals to give focus that could not be done otherwise?  (we already know that Angelou's poetry can stand on its own)

In the event, I confess I was barely listening to the words.  I was listening to music of orchestra and voice.  And hearing the hope of youth to the melancholy of age.  To a combination of music and words, that seemed to do all right even without the words.

Beginnings and ongoings - Louis Luangkesorn

September. A start of a new school year, with new classes, new projects ramping up. And a new season of the PSO. We went to the gala looking forward to an entertaining time, not with the expectation of being impressed, but a sense of return to art in a form we have not partaken in a while. Wednesday night was the opening gala. So around the concert was a cocktail hour and the Soiree for us "younger" folks. (while the gala was presumably for the not so younger folks)

My wife and I took the opportunity to have a conversation with a random couple. Or maybe not so random, as the gentleman had the distinguishing characteristic of having a Combat Infantryman Badge, earned in WWII and marked by further service in Vietnam. The four of us went to have a wonderful, engaging conversation of the things of life, war, arts, our wonderful city, and marriage (both couples being recently married).

And the rest of the evening followed the same pattern. Meeting friends old and new. Talking about a new academic year (for all the professors), families to be, projects under way, ideas and goals for the year. The things of a vibrant life. To go with a concert with Izhak Perlman that covered the range from spectacular to rich to delicate.

An evening with old friends and new. Encouragement for a creative life, and glimpses of what we hope is a foreshadowing of a full and rich life to come. And we look forward to a concert season with music and friends new and old.

Back from China - Louis Luangkesorn

My wife and I went to Friday's concert, after a long break while the PSO went on their tour of China. We quickly found the board of pictures from the trip, including the picture of 'No horn' sign among those taken by Chuck Lirrett and Stephanie Tretick.
 

I especially enjoyed it because I had just returned from a trip to China myself, and like Chuck was amused by the "No horn" sign, especially when it was found outside a concert hall or school of music. And during our trip, we encountered a few friends who noted the PSO's appearances in Beijing and Shanghai not long before. My wife's family has an association with the Tianjin Conservatory of Music, and when visiting the school and various faculty there, we came upon their Wall of Fame, with pictures of illustrious alumni and staff from over the years. And another picture, of some distinguished alumni and friends from the United States who had recently come to teach and inspire the next generation of musicians.

It seems that Adam Liu, Cello and alumni of the Tianjin Conservatory of Music, and a few other PSO friends came to the Tianjin Conservatory of Music ahead of us. We laughed at the many interwoven connections we have in our lives, and how small and how rich our world is.

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.

Music by the sea - Louis Luangkesorn

One of my hobbies is backpacking. I enjoy the opportunities to be in the natural world, to accept it on its own terms (including storms), and to be able to listen. And when you think of such things in music, the first piece that comes to mind is Beethoven Symphony No. 6, and the Fantasia rendering of green pastors, interupted by storms, and return to green pastures. Except, the real, living world is not like that. Even in its most peaceful and idyllic, everything is just much more, . . . , random. And anyplace that is alive has sounds (whether or not you are listening properly is another question) and the representation of the natural world by sweeping melodies, evokes an emotion or a picture rather then represents its true nature. Last night's Dharma at Big Sur by John Adams was different.

Dharma provided a different sort of view of the outdoors. And listening to it brings you through a full day. There is the beginning of the day, and you can almost hear the low murmurs of surf and nature entering your subconscious as you slowly wake up in the morning. As the sun rises, more and more of the world awakes, with waking birds adding clarity above (but not replacing) the ambient sounds that continue. And finally, you wake up yourself, looking forward to the day and adventures ahead of you with sights and sounds both familiar and not (the gongs provide the different sort of sound that keeps things interesting.)

But my friends also know that water and I go together when I go outdoors. And so Dharma has this too. It also has the raw power of nature crashing. But even here, its not just that you can hear the waves crashing against the rocks on the shore, or the thunder and lighting, but you hear the constant rain that is in the backdrop, and the wind's whistle bends as it goes by.

It is a different part of life. I mentioned how John Adams Short Ride in a Fast Machine

seemed to reflect the greatness in even the doing of everyday tasks in a very man-made environment. But this seemed almost organic and a living and growing thing. And like a good backpacking trip, I almost expect it to be different the next time I hear it.

Wow, Fast fingers - Louis Luangkesorn

I remember hearing about this concert a few weeks ago.  I had been sent links to YouTube videos with Yuja Wang, and hints that she was a pianist with amazing technique, a virtuoso.  But those are words I've heard before, and did not pay much attention.

For all the talk of technique and raw talent, I believe that there is more to being proficient then ability, it is the ability to apply that talent to a context interacting with others that provides value above and beyond the application of talent.  I had a discussion about this in regard to a book I did not like all that much.  It was a claim at a person could grow in skill to a level way beyond any of those around her.  My claim has always been is that ability past a certain point requires a person be interacting with others who can complement her gifts and talents, and point the way towards greater heights.

Where I lose interest in virtuosi is when they seem to only shine alone.  And the concerti where a soloist and the orchestra take turns playing are not as interesting as when the orchestra and soloist play off each other.

From the point of view of looking for virtuoso, Ms. Wang did not disappoint.  I was amused during the intermission of one man who said to her "Wow."  But, for all the accolades that Yuja Wang has received over skill, there was more she could show during the Prokofiev.  From the opening, where the orchestra seemed like it was sneaking in to the piano's opening, to numerous transitions throughout, the changes in focus from piano to orchestra seemed smooth, with the level of intensity and energy matching at the point of transition, both the piano and orchestra parts fitting together. Supporting each other as in conversation, not merely dropping out in an exchange of soliloqueys.  And sharing the stage does not make the soloist lessor, but made Ms. Wang's talent shine.

And this impresses me more than the ample demonstration of her skills, even more the arrangement of Flight of the Bumblebee encore that she played.  That her and the orchestra playing together make each other look better.  And people like that, not only do they look good.  You are glad they do and hope to see them again.