Currente calamo: TSO's New Creations Festival

TSO: New Creations Festival, 2011

While these shows were fresh in my mind I wanted to get some quick notes down. I'm a nerd for not wanting to throw my full reviews out of sequence, so by and by I'll put up a full review, which will include increased ramblings on a range of topics, including my memories of the smell of bannock, The Man Who Knew Too Much, mutterings about class war and curiosity on why someone would choose to play the bassoon. For the moment, though, let's focus on the music itself.

"Short Ride in a Fast Machine" (Wed. Mar. 2, 2011)

The first concert of the series opened and closed with works by John Adams, leading off with the eponymous "Short Ride in a Fast Machine" — five minutes of straight-up "go", compressed to popsong length. Backed by a constantly clattering woodblock, this is probably the closest thing you're going to get at the symphony to a "more cowbell" moment, and in its surging gusto, the piece probably owes as much to Carl Stalling as to any more "highbrow" referent. All of which makes it top notch in my book.

Vincent Ho's "The Shaman" had a similar percussive kick to it — in fact it was designed as a showcase for Dame Evelyn Glennie, said to be the world's only full-time symphonic percussionist. For the first few minutes with Glennie leading the charge, it felt like an electroacoustic improvisation until the strings kicked in — then the composer's hand was more strongly felt. Glennie would literally dash between her three percussion workstations, composed of Brobdingnagian-looking instruments including giant drums and marimbas. The orchestration during the more roiling segments was sometimes a bit of a mixed bag, with a bit of a "throw in the kitchen sink" sort of feel. Although the busier sections were entertaining just by virtue of Glennie's physicality, I think my favourite part here was a quiet interlude where the vibes resonated against the stillness, their sounds hanging in the air — lingering, lingering. The whole of it engaged me in fits and starts, but audience liked it, and a fair number of people stood to applaud.

After intermission, the night concluded with Adams' "Harmonielehre" — a word that still makes my eyes glaze over when I try to pronouce it. Introduced by Adams as a "bizarre marriage" of minimalism and Germanic Romantic music, it started with a jarring minimalist riff before finding some Glass-ian repetition, it rolled along like it could have been called "Minimalism!" for almost five minutes before a metronomic marimba urged itself forward. Then came the opposite side of the coin, with the lush romantic theme on the strings — and the rest of the piece was basically those two forces rubbing up against each other in different ways. I found the first movement, going not-quite twenty minutes to be be both mentally exciting and emotionally elevating.

It was interesting to see the two styles slide against each other in different ways — sometimes one dominating the other, but at a few points feeling more like a mashup of two separate compositions playing simultaneously. I was wearing down a bit by the end of it, but it was rather lovely. At the stirring ending, just on the cusp of the crowd's applause, someone burst forth with a hearty, unsymphonic "yeah!"

"Electronica Meets Orchestra" (Sat. Mar. 5, 2011)

This night's title was an interesting demonstration of the pace at which "popular" forms filter up into the high culture. Although it's not particularly my realm, "electronica", as a word or concept, has a bit of a turn-of-the-century whiff to it, coming off (in the accelerated world of pop forms) as a bit quaint. The night took its name in a nod to Mason Bates' "Liquid Interface", on which the composer took part in "playing" his laptop and drumpad alongside the orchestra.

As the title implies, the piece was a sonic exploration of various states of water, from icebergs sliding to the sea to the patter of falling droplets to the overwhelming power of a gale. Bates' contributions were mostly percussive, and surrounded by the lushness of the orchestra, the beats sounded somewhat tinny and boxy. The various movements went in a few interesting directions and there was one jazzy section that made this feel more akin to the night's next piece than I was expecting. But on the whole I wasn't particularly overwhelmed.

Then again, the reason I was chuffed for this show came from the next selection, John Adams' "City Noir". Introduced by Adams as a sort of theoretical film noir soundtrack, unrestrained by the the needs of a sound cue to give way to dialogue. I don't know if this was pushing the envelope forward, technically speaking, like "Harmonielehre", but it was interesting as hell, and filled with evocative moments — homages to bebop and Ellington brushing shoulders against rushing car-chase tempos and moments of stillness like a foggy night in a desperate harbourtown. By that measure, this was great fun to listen to, and a smashing success, right up to the bombasto ending.

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A symphony outsider's musings for future expansion:

• I'm always struck by the dynamic range at the symphony, were there's such shifts of quiet to loud. For someone used to rock shows in clubs, the availability of quiet is profound.
• is there any sound more awesome than an orchestra warming up? I think sometimes that's my favourite part.
• symphony crowds — they sure can clap at great length. Most shows I'm used to, people would already be back at the bar getting a drink while the symphony crowd is still clapping away. I guess when you don't applaud every few minutes it just wells up in folks.

The New Creations Festival wraps up with one last show, this Thursday, March 10.

Gig: Mariinsky Orchestra

Mariinsky Orchestra

Roy Thompson Hall. Tuesday, March 16, 2010.

Another one of those chances to see how the other half lives. Not the sort of thing that I'd usually be seen at, but when Roy Thompson Hall sent out an offer of twenty dollar tickets for a bunch of shows, I gave the list a quick once over, not thinking there'd be anything for me. But my eye was caught by one thing. I did some quick checking, and indeed I had seen The Mariinsky Orchestra¹ (out of St. Petersburg, Russia) not too long before on the big screen, in Aleksandr Sokurov's Russian Ark. That minor synchronicity made it seem like a cool idea to grab a ticket.

It actually turned out to be good value for money. Looking it up, I was paying less than half of normal face value for what turned out to be a good enough seat for the likes of me. It was in the back row of the upper ring at Roy Thompson Hall, yes, but in a section that was around to the side enough to be directly perpendicular to the stage, giving a very nice view of the orchestra and conductor.

The conductor was Valery Gergiev, who is, as it turns out, about as big a name as it gets in this game. To watch him conducting was quite a delight, for there was far less restraint in his gestures than one might have expected for a guy carrying such a highbrow rep. Tall and lanky, he employed body language that brought to mind John Cleese with his long-limbed exciteability. When the tempo of the music built up to its height, he was actually nearly hopping, and a couple times I wondered to myself that if any member of the orchestra should make a mistake while he was in such a state whether or not he'd dash off the stage and return with the branch of a tree to give them a damn good thrashing.

This, of course, made for some fine additional entertainment to go along with the music. The first piece, Hector Berlioz' Les Troyens felt pretty cerebral, more of a clearing of the throat and a look-what-we-can-do gesture. Selections from Berlioz' Roméo et Juliette — a "symphonie dramatique", which includes, in its full form, choral sections not reproduced here — had a more jaunty feel and perhaps, unsurprisingly, a more pronounced narrative arc.

As is pretty much always the case on hearing classical music, I was captivated by the the impressive range of dynamics at play, with the orchestra going from quietness to booming intensity in a way that is lost with your amplified/electrified types of music. The Berlioz was interesting stuff, but somewhat reserved — perhaps too much for the crowd. "Well," one guy said, as he was making his way for the exit as the intermission began, "I've never been so ready for Tchaikovsky."

And then a chance to wander around a bit during the break, soak in the surroundings and consider the crowd. At least I wasn't the most dressed-down individual on the premises — I passed a dude wearing a Ramones t-shirt and leather jacket, cigarette package stuffed in his pocket. But on the whole, the crowd mostly conformed to what you'd think: older, more affulent looking types. Not for nothing was one of the evening's sponsors a provider of "personal banking services", which left me thinking the personal service they'd extend to me would be to have the security guard escort me back to the street. But I digress.

There was certainly a different feel to the second part of the programme. The switch from Berlioz to Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 5 in E minor felt like going from Masterpiece Theatre to General Hospital — which is to say this was a lot more populist and easy-to-grasp in its unabashed and unrestrained emotionality. Plus there was a more tangible musical throughline in the jaunty thematic motif that recurred throughout. If the cynic were to think that this was like the sweet cake following the its-good-for-you vegetables of the first half, it should be noted that the orchestra threw themselves into this with gusto, Gergiev most of all. Conducting without a score — which boggles the mind when you consider this was a forty-five minute piece — his gesticulations were even more intense than previously.

There were parts that were just this side of overbearing sentimentality — including the second movement french horn solo that is said to have been pilfered by John Denver for "Annie's Song". But in a sure sign of expert emotional manipulation, the goopiest parts of the music were perhaps the most affecting. The ending had just the right amount of bombast — though I think it's considered to be rather too over the top for true sophisticates. At any rate, the crowd offered up an enormous standing ovation, three minutes long, with numerous curtain calls for Gergiev.

Returning for an encore, the orchestra played the "Polonaise" from Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin,² which the orchestra played with house-on-fire quickness. A jaunty ending to the night.

Very enjoyable overall, and I left pondering whether this seemed like an extra-cool time because it was relatively unusual for me. Were music like this more within my means, I would probably go to more of it. But on the other hand, it's not bad to have some things that you like but whose presence marks a special occasion.

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¹ Known in the Soviet times as the Kirov, and also known for their very famous ballet company.

² To be clear, I had no notion at all what the piece was — it fell into that wide category of classical pieces that I know I've heard somewhere but could never identify. But I did ask around.