Nada AminPage 111/07/01

During the past few weeks, I went to different musical events, a Boston Symphony Orchestra Concert and a modern Opera, Resurrection, inspired by Tolstoy' eponym novel. They were two contrasting musical experiences that I want to discuss.

I didn't have any precise expectations of Resurrection, an Opera written by the modern composer Tod Machover and produced with his assistance by the Boston Lyric Opera New England. I end up enjoying the show immensely. As the curtains rose, revealing a flashy blood-red background, I became apprehensive. Instantaneously, I recalled the Opera production I attended with my art class two years ago in Geneva (Switzerland). Was it going to be these bright alternating colored screens with idling performers, again? Will I have to close my eyes in a desperate attempt to enjoy at least the music, again? Despite my previous bad experience, I have been curious to attend an Opera again, since we introduced the genre in this class, which made me recognize the essential role of vocal music in Western music and appreciate its evolution through time. An Opera is such an ambitious initiative by its many dimensions of arts (music, text, stage) that it seems almost impossible to "get it all right". Fortunately, I was pleasantly deceived.

In retrospection, I am surprised by a few elements of the performance, which I think all relate to the same misconception I had: I viewed Opera as an excessive art, which couldn't be perceived as natural, while on the contrary, this production showed moderation in all aspects of the piece. The blurred aria-recitative dichotomy is one of these surprising elements. I try to differentiate between the two by their functions: recitative as actions, arias as feelings. For an example of this lack of clear separation, in one of the last scenes, when Moslova finally declines the Prince's offer, both characters have a long exchange, which progressively shifts from recitative to aria. The difference becomes clear, when it's too late to notice the change, like when a passant observes that the street lights are on, without being able to tell since when.

Despite a rather dense and complicated story with backwards and forwards motion in space but also in time, the opera was easy to follow, because every scene conveyed a recognizable atmosphere through the décor and the music. I already mentioned the bright red background associated with the trial, which is a very sensitive choice that sets the tone of the courtroom by suggesting a hostile rigidity. As another example, the flashbacks are announced with a nostalgic short melody and a schematic modification in the character's costume, and that is enough. Perhaps this is a little far stretched, but I find it subtle that the same gate is used to depict both the fiancée's mansion and the jail, making wonder which one is the real prison.

At a higher level, I experienced the first and second act of the Opera differently. Schematically, the first exposes and constructs the drama and the second resolves it. The first one rises in tension and the second seeks a new stability.

I didn't pay much attention to the beautiful Opera House itself, as I had the stage to focus on. Two boards, at each side of the hall, subtitled the words of the actors-singers. It may not seem important, but I felt it compensated well for the loss of clarity in the declamation, especially when the music became prevalent.

I must admit that there was so much to understand, see and hear, that I barely scratch the surface of what was offered to me.

The same statement could apply to the Boston Symphony Orchestra's Concert, which features Bach, Martin, Bruch and Bartòk. It makes me realize that I haven't been to an excellent professional classical concert for a long time. I can't remember anything comparable.

I went to the concert with two friends and the varieties of pieces were able to content all of us at least once. I particularly enjoyed the first part: Bach's Concerto in D, because I was able to appreciate it in the light of the knowledge I gain in class and Martin, because of its expressiveness and richness. This second piece, "Concerto for Seven Winds Instruments, Timpani, Percussion, and String Orchestra" by Martin, was completely new to me. I feel it has a very wild and dark ambiance to it. My mind keeps alternating between war-like and jungle-like images, finally combining both in some wild tribals' fight. That probably isn't the intent. Still, I think the connotation of war is suggested by the solemn darkness of the harmonic dissensions and the connotation of jungle and wildness by some exotic percussion instrument. Perhaps, it was influenced by the World Wars in its mood, as it was written just after the second.

Going to a concert is such a different experience than simply listening to the music at home. Seeing the performers remind us of the social origin of music. Listening to music at home, we sometimes consider it in an abstract way and loose sight of the people that are behind it. It also clarifies the music texture by relating the instruments to the sounds. Most of the time, I watch the music director, Seiji Ozawa. He seems to be dancing and almost flying, and still somewhat visually incarnating the music. This is perhaps a crude comparison, but I perceive him as a very sophisticated and sensitive version of these visual screens featured in computer music players. He is fun to watch. Finally, the hall itself was beautiful. Particularly, the whole stage seems to be a delicate painting, with the golden frame around it.

Overall, I enjoyed these two concerts immensely. I went not to listen to music I knew and knew I loved, but with an open mind. And I made wonderful discoveries.

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