Buzzing Reed- Classical Music & Clarinet Culture

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Okay, here is the one where I add stuff, especially in the return of the main theme, second part. I use some of the provocative yet fitting ornamentation suggested by Stoltzman in his recording of the piece. Unfortunately, the audio quality sucks. I’m looking for a better copy. But you get the gist.

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I was able to stay for the second half tonight to hear Mozart’s “Jupiter” Symphony, and after hearing the orchestra play in the Palace Theater, I have to agree with Barbara Zuck in her review of last night’s concert. The Palace doesn’t sound all that bad from the audience. It may even sound a bit better than the Ohio Theater, though that’s not saying much.

I sat about half way up the upper balcony on the right side. I could hear every section of the Columbus Symphony more vividly than in the Ohio. (I think I heard this same symphony with Alessandro Siciliani conducting it in the Ohio) The woodwinds could have been a bit more present (I am a woodwind player, after all) but individual players could be heard clearly nonetheless. The upper strings were clear and present, and the lower strings did not suffer the dampening effect of the Ohio’s acoustics.

The overall sound lacked some blend and sparkle, which would be greatly improved with a shell, and minus the heavy black curtains surrounding the orchestra and it’s sound. (There were plans drawn up a few years ago to renovate the Palace: widen the proscenium and bring the stage out, create a shell, and shrink the back of the hall by 1000 seats. Until the Columbus Symphony gets its own deserved hall, this is still the best and most practical option to give the orchestra a sonically resonant performance space and to give the audience a better show)

I felt involved with the sonic availability of the performance from where I sat, a stark contract to the Ohio, where the orchestra’s sound is far, far away, no matter where you sit.

Tonight’s first half went even better than last night. Jean-Marie Zeitouni seemed more relaxed from the start, and the Rossini showed it.

Rachel Barton Pine was stunning again in the Wieniawski, creating slightly different nuances and style in many spots. She played a different encore tonight, the gypsy music from the movie The Red Violin, which she said she learned last week. Her playing was incredible. One of the joys of being a musician is that I get a front row seat of sorts to hear amazing players like Rachel, who make such difficult music sound so effortless. Not many violin soloists play double stops so in tune. And in extremely fast passages, many violinists tighten up and sound a bit scratchy. Not Rachel. I am awed by her playing.

It’s back to the grindstone for me tomorrow.

The CSO’s performance of the Jupiter was top notch. The spirit of the music was conveyed with aplomb by Maestro Zeitouni, who never tensed to show excitement, but instilled bounce and vigor into the players with an impressive array of gestures which seemed to come naturally, as if from the music itself.

This kind of conducting flair is rare. Many conductors work very hard to choreograph their gestures. Our last music director, however, did not need such artificial mapping. Junichi Hirokami was able to convey the music with similar natural flamboyance to Zeitouni, though Maestro Junichi had been doing it a lot longer, and to Zeitouni’s credit, it seems to be inborn for him. Other conductors, such as Maestro Gunther Herbig, practice the old school technique, using sparse and studied gestures with remarkable focus to convey the music with reliable efficiency.

What a joy to hear my orchestra bringing to life such a masterpiece right before me. Mozart’s “modernness” never fails to amaze me. Every movement of this 41st symphony of his, written at age 33, contains “twisted” and “gnarly” harmonic sections, way out for the time and tradition he was living and composing in.

Too bad there are no clarinet parts in the Jupiter. Perhaps I could “unearth” some “lost” clarinet parts to be able to join in with my colleagues to recreate Mozart’s genius as it happens. Or maybe not. It’s one of the few “big” pieces I get to hear from the audience once in awhil

This evening at Mozart’s Café I will be performing a set of variations on the popular folk theme, Carnival of Venice, arranged by Paul Jeanjean, an early 20 century French clarinetist known for his difficult but beautiful études for clarinet and also for flute. Several other members of the Symphony will join me in a wonderful variety of great chamber music.

I am happy to say, the event is officially sold out. It is one of many fundraisers organized by grassroots supporters and the musicians themselves to support the beleaguered members of the Columbus Symphony, who were unfairly locked out of work June 1st, work legally contracted to them by CSO management, lead by Tony Beadle and Buzz Trafford. It continues to strike me as odd that the very people who should be leading the struggle to save the symphony are, to all public and private appearances, doing the opposite, destroying the soul of a great orchestra in Columbus.

The Venice song is probably familiar to most people, and has been made particularly famous more by the variations written on it than any original sources. I searched for some history of the melody and found only references to the numerous variations for any number of instruments, from flute to tuba. Wikipedia wasn’t much help, except to note that the song is associated with the words, “My hat, it has three corners”, not very Italian sounding. If anyone has further knowledge of the history of this tune, let me know. (someone forwarded more Wiki info on the piece-More than 150 years ago, French cornetist and teacher Jean Baptiste Arban created the method book, which became the standard manual for brass players all over the world. His playing of and compositions for the cornet helped to establish it as a serious classical instrument. He wrote this set of variations in the early 1860s, undoubtedly inspired by Niccolo Paganini’s 20 variations for violin on the same air, which has been attributed both to Paganini and to German opera composer Reinhard Keiser.)

Here is a fine recording of the Jeanjean variations I will play, performed by Duncan Prescott.

Carnival of Venice – Duncan Prescott (Clarinet)

Enjoy!

I had a blast playing an all Mozart recital at my home last night. Working with a mix of dear friends, talented colleagues and new-found talents in Columbus, I can’t imagine a better evening for a musician.

This was the second in what I hope will become a regular series of concerts. The program, “Mmiraculous Mmozart- The Deliciousness of Mozart’s Music” (inspired by chocolate truffles) came together as a combination of pieces we wanted to play and people I wanted to work with.

The Clarinet Trio of Mozart, K 498, is a piece I have wanted to play with Brett Allen, assistant principal viola with the Columbus Symphony, since we decided to do some recitals together a few years ago. The viola-clarinet-piano combination has several substantial works written for it. In March, 2007 we performed the romantic and brooding Max Bruch “Eight Pieces” for viola, clarinet and piano with Dianne Frazer. Another delightful work for that combination is the Schumann “Fairy Tales”, which we look forward to performing in the future.

Tonight we played the “Kegelstatt” (“bowling alley” nicknamed for where Mozart is said to have conceived the piece) Trio with pianist Ahlin Min, a talented new face in the Columbus music scene. Ahlin moved to Columbus with her husband, Noah, last year, after graduating from Indiana University, where she studied with Menahem Pressler, founding member of the Beaux Arts Trio. Ahlin came to my attention at the suggestion of pianist Nina Polansky, wife of Leonid, Assistant Concertmaster of the CSO. I have to say, Ahlin Min has earned my full respect as a musician after tonight’s concert, having performed an intricate and demanding part with impressive technical and musical alacrity. Along with Brett’s top notch viola playing, the synergy among the three of us led, in my opinion, to a convincing and detailed reading of Mozart’s lighthearted masterpiece.

For the second part of the program, the famous Mozart Quintet, I was joined by Robert Firdman, violin, longtime friend, colleague and passionate musician from the CSO; Orieta Dado, a gifted violinist and amazing friend and Associate member of the our orchestra; Brett Allen, mentioned above; and Mark Kosmala, cello, another shining star among the Associate players of the orchestra. Let it be known that the Associates of the Columbus Symphony contribute to the brunt of serious music making by adding their expertise and passion to virtually all of our major classical series concerts. They may be part time by definition, but their music making is full time for our orchestra.

It was a revelation for me as a wind player to rehearse this piece with four string players who have never played together as a quartet. I learned a great deal about the intricacies of string playing. Primary among those techniques, the discussion of bowing, whether to bow up or down for a particular passage, continued through the last moment of rehearsal. I began to get a feel for the significance of each bow stroke, up or down, and how it contributed to the shape of the phrase. Up bow is more anticipatory in tone and phrasing; down bow more emphatic and directed.

The performance found us all coming together in spirit and technique. Some parts could have been better, as they always can, but the output of these players, from beginning to end of this intimately impromptu recital, was nothing short of 110%. Personally, I experienced moments of blissful music making which cannot be surpassed, and I have my friends to thank for joining in that collaboration. I am honored and pleased to have been able to make music with these fine artists. We are already talking about our next venture into the rich repertoire of chamber music available.

Our loving and enthusiastic audience, which numbered at least 35, filled the West Dunedin house with careful attention during the performance and a healthy applause after. All of us, audience and performers, maintained our focus even during the unexpected soliloquy by my kitchen smoke alarm. (the oven had to be turned on ahead of time to prepare the post concert h’ours dourves) Members of the audience promptly dismantled the noisy interloper while the music continued. However, we all agreed that a repeat of the ending of the Quintet sans piercing beeping was in order.

My sincerest thanks goes out to all who participated in the music making and music appreciating during this lovely Sunday evening in early May. I was doing what I loved doing; making music with and for those who loved it. And despite all the hubbub in Columbus, Ohio about whether it can (or should) afford a good orchestra, I am convinced that the music is what really matters, at least to those who attended tonight.

A bustling reception followed, with delicious h’ours dourves and lively conversation. The music is alive in Columbus. And more will follow. Let there be no doubt, more music will follow.

Many thanks to all those who helped with planning, invitations, food, underwriting and recording, including among many others: the Columbus Symphony Orchestra League, the Women’s Association of the Columbus Symphony Orchestra, Symphony Strong, John and Valerie Gibbs, Gayla and Robert Ebersole, Grace Sharp, Joseph Sarah, Jan Ryan, Phyllis and Randy Hester, Frank and Ann Hurd Thomas and Steve Bennett.

Today I performed at a church where the music minister regularly hires a full orchestra to feature the mystical and healing power of music in the service. The entire service featured the music of Mozart, a glorious collection of Wolfie’s best and most sublime, including the Andante from the flute concerto K315, Kyrie from the Coronation Mass K317, two movements from Vesperae solennes di confessore K339, and the famous Adagio from the Clarinet Concerto K622.

Written near the end of his life, Mozart achieved a perfect balance between profound meaning and simple expression in his clarinet concerto. The adagio begins with a simple, arching melody which rises higher with each two bar statement. A second arching line overlaps between solo and orchestra, with tension and resolution soaring over a satisfying peak. Then the “B” section changes moods, allowing the solo clarinet a free and wandering fantasy, a conversation with itself, which builds slowly to a fervent musical climax. Here the orchestra drops out and the clarinet is left alone to float down from the rich tension, back to the simple “A” part from the beginning. The movement ends with a long coda of new, rambling material, which settles, like a feather, gently down to a relaxed repose.

Before I played, this poem The Song and Prayer of Birds by Thomas H. Troeger (b 1945) was read by the minister:

The song and prayer of birds
is melody alone,
Their hymns employ no words.
Their praise is purely tone.
Their song is prayer enough.
Love hears what sound conveys,
and love does not rebuff
a creature’s wordless praise.
And so we trust that prayer
does not depend on words
to reach the source of care
who understands the birds.

After hearing this poem, I was inspired to play the pure meaning of the music, without thinking or second-guessing or analyzing. I just felt the phrases as they came and went, abstract shaped of sound and song. I was able to sing through my instrument as if it wasn’t there.

A musician sits practicing alone in his room, as he has done most of his life. He is a beloved performer, respected and revered by many. He is concentrated and fearless in his focus. Time passes effortlessly here. Time stops.

The light in his room dims. He looks up from the piece he is playing, the solo part from the slow movement of Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto. Above his music stand, there hovers a soft violet glow. He hears a chorus murmuring.

(voices of listeners from all time):You play the music in our hearts. You play things we feel. You are deep and wise.

(performer): No, I play what I am told to play. I play what I know you will feel. But I do not feel what you do. I am not wise.

This saddens us. You are not what you seem. Tell us why.

I think and feel as you do, but I am empty. I fill myself with things which give the impression I am full. I show you yourself.

But how can you show us so much knowing so little?

I feel my pain with doubt. I question everything. I challenge reality. But the structure of the music gives me strength. It quells my doubt.

But you do not feel what we feel, if you doubt your pain and question everything.

I feel what you feel in my own way. When I lay my head on the breast of my mother and weep from joy and gratitude at the gift of life she gave me, I feel what you feel when I play the music. But I do not feel the music as you do.

What do you feel when you play?

I see patterns of structure, puzzles laid out by the composer, shapes and form, lines and colors. I see how I must fit into that puzzle. I have many choices, but only a few good ones. I struggle to play effortlessly. I am a machine, a thinking machine, adjusting constantly to fit into the puzzle and become nothing but the composers dream.

But what do you feel?

I do not feel. I calculate, I listen, I sense. But I am not there to feel. If I feel, then I am lost.

Then why do we feel what you do not?

You feel what I do not because I do not allow myself to feel it. I give up my feeling so you may have it.

(the voices recede. the violet light fades above his stand. he is alone. he continues his practice, shaping the perfect phrases of Mozart’s perfect music. he is content.)

Inspired by the poem-
The Man with the Blue Guitar
by Wallace Stevens

As physical players of our instruments, we need a practice of cleansing the fibers of our muscles as we play. So play becomes the fiber to cleanse and relax the “fibers” of our muscles.

Chamber music, read at relaxed parties, with lots of yummy hors-d’oeuvre and good wine, becomes a necessary part of staying fresh in our playing.

We need play, in the sophisticated setting of Mozart’s brilliance, to ripen our musical souls as expressed through our bodies, and for those corporeal souls to flourish.

Great chamber music offers an individuality rarely present in the orchestra, except in solo parts. But even in orchestral solo parts, the player is subject to so many exterior demands, such as the thoughts of the conductor and acoustics, not to mention the sheer number of other “opinions” extant. So chamber music is “soloing” at home with good friends. Could there be any better way of learning trust and physical poise in an intimate setting?

So, back to fiber. We all need it. Fiber for the body, the soul and the mind.