To broaden our appreciation of classical music performance, last night we went along to the first evening concert in the University's Autumn Concert Season. A string quartet - the Dante Quartet - gave us three delightful and very different pieces: one by Mozart, the second, a lesser known Faure work and the third a Smetana piece. We went with a view to engaging the audience's opinion about their ideal performance spaces, which we did during the interval and afterwards, but what follows are my own thoughts about the performance; about the music, the players and the space.
I was surprised how easy it was to get 'lost' in the music, and caught up in it; but to find its purity spoilt by visual clutter in the room ( I think I now understand better the meaning of 'a space with clarity') and disrupted by the slightest interuption of noise behind me...the keys of a phone tapping, the turn of a programme page, a murmured whisper, a cough.... I wanted people to be hardly breathing, to be 'in' the music with me and the performers. Perhaps it comes from my rooting in dance that I sort-of 'see' music. I don't mean in the synesthesia sense, but rather I visualise the music as shapes, and choreograph in my head as I hear music - not just with dancers, but with the music itself.
For me, it was as if Mozart was 'playing' with the music: as if it was a physical thing like a ball, tossed between the players and you could, watching the musicians, see it pass between instruments. There were times when the musicians sort of 'became' the music - their whole bodies physically responding to the sounds which ran up and down their instruments. Though the players were moving in order to play more expressively, and engage with the music and each other, it was as if they themselves were dancers of choreographed movement.
The Faure, by contrast, was a purer, elemental kind of music. All the voices were equal and combined to form an overall shape in space. Rather than watch the music (or players), like I wanted to with the Mozart, I wanted to shut everything out, close my eyes and let the sound envelop me, so I could 'see' it grow and morph in the darkness. Rather than the musicians dancing, it was the music itself that did.
The final piece was different again - this time a narrative form of music. A biography of Smetana's life; a soundtrack, or musical memory of his life, with motifs signifying certain elements. We had been read a letter describing some of the memorable moments he captures in it just before the players began, and the imagery conjured by this was what I saw when the music commenced. Some of it was quite cinematic - with ominous sequences signifying the omen of his deafness to come, other moments which encapsulated the romance with his wife; the music responded very much to the emotions of his life...I guess in the same way that music can stir deep emotions, and make us sad or happy, by association and the tonality of the music. For me, in this piece, it was as if the music formed the background to the activities it represented, and in that way, I guess more like ballet music.
It was really interesting to watch the performers themselves too, as they all individually seemed to respond quite differently. I was captivated particularly by the violinists (perhaps not entirely surprising being one myself, back in the day!) With the first violinist, it seemed to me that she was really at one with her instrument - the violin was just an extension of her body and it seemed natural that chin and wrist should be connected by her instrument. Despite her immense dexterity and diverse musical expression, it seemed effortless to play; the sound sort-of came from her whole being. In contrast, the second violinist seemed to cradle his instrument. It seemed tiny, but very precious, nestled under his chin...and yet his whole body went into the playing of it, in a very outwardly expressive way: when the music was 'small' and quiet, his whole body seemed to retract and vice versa. It was as if he himself was a physical manifestation of what the music was doing...as if he was almost dancing to it. With the viola player, again her whole body seemed to respond to the music - I noticed her hair seemed particularly expressive in her movement and playing! The cellist seemed to have a very light touch on his instrument, barely seeming to touch it sometimes, and yet the music would magically float out of his cello.
As I said in the Mozart it was as if you could see the music being physically passed between instruments; it was interesting to watch the performers from this aspect too. Sometimes it was very clear when instruments were playing together - their bows in unified flow, or their eyes locked on one another, taking cues from each other and really engaging the shared moment in the music. I was really surprised at how actively visual the performance was. I sometimes struggle to know where to look when listening intently to recorded music, but there was no doubt with a group of live musicians in front of me! I do wonder how this might differ though with electro-acoustic music, when the music comes from inanimate objects dispersed around the room... definitely food for thought...
I was surprised how easy it was to get 'lost' in the music, and caught up in it; but to find its purity spoilt by visual clutter in the room ( I think I now understand better the meaning of 'a space with clarity') and disrupted by the slightest interuption of noise behind me...the keys of a phone tapping, the turn of a programme page, a murmured whisper, a cough.... I wanted people to be hardly breathing, to be 'in' the music with me and the performers. Perhaps it comes from my rooting in dance that I sort-of 'see' music. I don't mean in the synesthesia sense, but rather I visualise the music as shapes, and choreograph in my head as I hear music - not just with dancers, but with the music itself.
For me, it was as if Mozart was 'playing' with the music: as if it was a physical thing like a ball, tossed between the players and you could, watching the musicians, see it pass between instruments. There were times when the musicians sort of 'became' the music - their whole bodies physically responding to the sounds which ran up and down their instruments. Though the players were moving in order to play more expressively, and engage with the music and each other, it was as if they themselves were dancers of choreographed movement.
The Faure, by contrast, was a purer, elemental kind of music. All the voices were equal and combined to form an overall shape in space. Rather than watch the music (or players), like I wanted to with the Mozart, I wanted to shut everything out, close my eyes and let the sound envelop me, so I could 'see' it grow and morph in the darkness. Rather than the musicians dancing, it was the music itself that did.
The final piece was different again - this time a narrative form of music. A biography of Smetana's life; a soundtrack, or musical memory of his life, with motifs signifying certain elements. We had been read a letter describing some of the memorable moments he captures in it just before the players began, and the imagery conjured by this was what I saw when the music commenced. Some of it was quite cinematic - with ominous sequences signifying the omen of his deafness to come, other moments which encapsulated the romance with his wife; the music responded very much to the emotions of his life...I guess in the same way that music can stir deep emotions, and make us sad or happy, by association and the tonality of the music. For me, in this piece, it was as if the music formed the background to the activities it represented, and in that way, I guess more like ballet music.
It was really interesting to watch the performers themselves too, as they all individually seemed to respond quite differently. I was captivated particularly by the violinists (perhaps not entirely surprising being one myself, back in the day!) With the first violinist, it seemed to me that she was really at one with her instrument - the violin was just an extension of her body and it seemed natural that chin and wrist should be connected by her instrument. Despite her immense dexterity and diverse musical expression, it seemed effortless to play; the sound sort-of came from her whole being. In contrast, the second violinist seemed to cradle his instrument. It seemed tiny, but very precious, nestled under his chin...and yet his whole body went into the playing of it, in a very outwardly expressive way: when the music was 'small' and quiet, his whole body seemed to retract and vice versa. It was as if he himself was a physical manifestation of what the music was doing...as if he was almost dancing to it. With the viola player, again her whole body seemed to respond to the music - I noticed her hair seemed particularly expressive in her movement and playing! The cellist seemed to have a very light touch on his instrument, barely seeming to touch it sometimes, and yet the music would magically float out of his cello.
As I said in the Mozart it was as if you could see the music being physically passed between instruments; it was interesting to watch the performers from this aspect too. Sometimes it was very clear when instruments were playing together - their bows in unified flow, or their eyes locked on one another, taking cues from each other and really engaging the shared moment in the music. I was really surprised at how actively visual the performance was. I sometimes struggle to know where to look when listening intently to recorded music, but there was no doubt with a group of live musicians in front of me! I do wonder how this might differ though with electro-acoustic music, when the music comes from inanimate objects dispersed around the room... definitely food for thought...
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1 comment:
Great narrative Tori!
This was the kind of music to dream to, which makes it all the more regrettable that Firth Hall cannot provide the kind of environment that supports this. VERY high level of ambient lighting and clutter (lowered projection screen behind the stage?!) to name but two of my major irritations.
I share your sentiments about ambient noise level - it was such a shame that the musicians had the audience almost holding their collective breath in moments of real fragility and tension, only for the 'roar' of the traffic outside to become so apparent (i never noticed it on other visits) that it detracted from the moment.
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