My, My, Mahler

I'm already late in my recap of yesterday's working rehearsal for the NSO performance last night of Mahler's Fifth Symphony at the Kennedy Center, so the Washington Post's review, focusing on guest violinist Leonidas Kavakos's participation, should fill in my usual gaps.

What I love about the working rehearsals is seeing the actual work go into an artistic performance. The musicians are not demigods, delighting the elites among us mere mortals (though you do have to be elite enough to join the Kennedy Center's second-to-lowest membership level to score a rehearsal invite--a privilege I have to forgo for the next season due to my recently compromised budget). The disadvantage is that you don't get the whole impact of the performance, as there are fits and starts, do-overs, and, as I learned, movements might get moved out of order.

Yesterday's experience was a delight on at least two levels for me, so there will be a part two of this post coming later (I know not to say "Soon" in some of my social circles).

The Level One delight (for blog post Two) was hearing Mahler's Fifth Symphony and being caught up in a vivid and very visual narrative. Some call that daydreaming; others call it plot development. The result was a treatment, a story line, for a ballet. There was enough light in the Concert Hall's orchestra seats to let me scribble notes throughout the rehearsal, which apparently broke for an intermission before completing all five movements.

I know this because, ignorant as I am about music, I never demur from asking stupid audience questions when given the opportunity. And I got that opportunity, so this gave me a bonus delight from yesterday's experience. A woman sitting in the row in front of me appeared very knowledgeable about what was going on, and I overheard her tell her seatmate that the conductor left something out. There was something wrong about the movements and the order in which they were rehearsed.

And this expert in the audience also happened to notice me scribbling in my Handy Dandy Notebook. She assumed I had some musical knowledge and would be able to answer her question about the missing Mahler movement. I oh-so-casually said, No, I never heard this piece before. I'm just writing a ballet here. Heh.

We had a lovely conversation after that. My new friend, a violinist, was happy to hear how I, as an audience member, responded to the music. (I won't lie, I don't know how proficient any particular musician is except how he or she makes me feel; that Mahler piece, despite all the interruptions, had me in tears.)

So at the end of the working rehearsal, I got to ask my Stupid Audience Question, something that had been niggling at me since last year's NSO working rehearsal with clarinetist Martin Fröst and guest conductor Osmo Vänskä, performing a clarinet concerto by Finnish composer Kalevi Aho. I noticed that the musicians were very busy scribbling notes on their sheet music so as to execute Vänskä's instructions on the obviously difficult piece. So my question was, Do the musicians get to keep the sheet music?

The answer, my friend informed me, is No. The sheet music used by the NSO is returned to the orchestra's library, where someone erases all the pencil marks scribbled by the musicians. Mystery solved! I love it.

Next time - Notes on a Ballet inspired by Mahler's Fifth Symphony.

Love, hosaa
dancing in my mind

Art Day Interrupted

This past Thursday was supposed to be one of my semi-annual art therapy days, beginning with the morning working rehearsal for the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center. (It was heavily attended last year when I went for a big-name guest artist, Emanuel Ax, so this year I went for someone I never heard of. More on that in a moment.)

Like last year, I intended to spend the afternoon exploring one of the galleries I hadn't had the chance to visit in awhile. I started aiming for the Phillips Collection (north of Dupont Circle), but Madame de Which-Way here got a bit lost around Washington Circle. So I took the familiar and predictable Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House and the Corcoran, which is where I went last year.

Unfortunately, the doors to the Corcoran were closed. The sign out front, disappointing a good half-dozen other visitors to town, indicated that there was a big event going on later, for which the room was being prepared. I told the out-of-towners that the Renwick was handy, just up yonder, ornate red brick building ... and it's the Smithsonian, so it's free!

I charged up on ahead of the group to find, to my chagrin, another closed-for-internal-reasons sign. Apologies to all the out-of-towners I misdirected. I was frustrated, too. And I hope a part of the Renwick's two-year restoration project will include adding a cafe, because not only was I tired at this point, I was also hungry.

The Phillips being a straight shot up 17th/Connecticut was still a bit of an enticement, but at about 10 long city blocks, not enough of an enticement. So I called it a day, ducked into the Metro, and headed home. (If the Metro had run just five minutes faster, I would have made it to the afternoon showing of Grand Budapest Hotel, though I confess the sticker shock at the box office probably would have deterred me anyway. The point of Art Therapy Day is to do free stuff, or at least stuff that was part of my membership benefits, like the NSO rehearsal and entry to Corcoran and Phillips.)

Art therapy days are also supposed to be based on serendipity, so I don't usually research my destinations. This worked out well in the past for such things as that great Diaghilev show at National Gallery of Art last year. But clearly planned serendipity doesn't always work out.

What really did work out this time was the NSO working rehearsal. The guest conductor was Osmo Vänskä, working with guest clarinetist Martin Fröst for the performance of a clarinet concerto by Finnish composer Kalevi Aho. What I didn't realize was that this trio was well established, and the Fröst-Vänskä recording of the Aho piece is available at iTunes. (Sample it on the Aho page linked above.)

Martin Fröst and Osmo Vänskä, February 2014, via Facebook

via martinfrost.se/images/

via martinfrost.se/images/

It was a lot of fun watching Vänskä do the work of preparing the orchestra for the performances (which were Thursday night and tonight). He was an exacting but patient and cordial instructor. Fröst came on first to prepare the clarinet concerto, though it would be performed second on the program, right before the intermission.

Fröst is boyish, geeky, and super-cool in that Scandinavian way, animated and uninhibited. The NSO musicians could scarcely keep their eyes off him! His rapport with Vänskä made it all supernaturally natural, permitting them to communicate through quick glances, nods, and that delightful, cheekbone-carving grin that a skilled clarinetist can manage when his mouth is otherwise occupied.

Spoiler alert here: They also rehearsed an encore for Fröst when the Aho piece was wrapped up. No announcement, obviously, but we all recognized the flavor of the piece: pure Klezmer! Upon further research, I see Fröst recorded some Klezmer for his album entitled Dances to a black pipe (2011). As breathtaking as the Aho piece was, its sobering Finnish expressionism was not quite the crowdpleaser that the Klezmer dance encore was.

As conductor/instructor, Vänskä was very chatty and gave instructions throughout the rehearsal. The musicians took notes and asked "Maestro" questions frequently. I liked the interruptions, actually. I like seeing the work of arts. As I've said before, just because you know the trick doesn't mean it isn't magic.

Love, hosaa
still planning some more serendipitous art, if I can get off my lazy butt

ETA - great interview with Martin Fröst at WETA-FM.