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Esa-Pekka Salonen
Apr. 14th, 2012 02:28 amWent to the symphony, the highlight of which was Esa-Pekka Salonen's "Violin Concerto," conducted by Salonen himself and performed by the soloist for whom it was written, which had people cheering aloud. (Remember this is a Boston and not a Dallas audience, so standing and hollering mean something.) Here is the link to another performance of the piece, but the audio is really not good enough to get across the tonal blending, which was quite extraordinary.
Another sign that this is Boston and not Dallas: almost everyone in the audience was badly dressed. Baggy khakis and faded untucked polos abounded. I am the last person to think you need to be "a suit" to enjoy hearing classical music performed live in one of the best acoustical spaces in America, or that such an occasion need always be formal. But if you're spending at least $60 on a Friday night ticket and another $8 on a drink at intermission, it seems perverse not to costume yourself for the occasion in even a token way. It seems a bit like spending six hours to cook the perfect meal, and then serving it on paper plates at a folding table. You could say all that matters is the sound or the taste, but if you're attuned to either of those you know that our senses interact and overlap.
On the subject of which, it was interesting to feel the music in my ears. Even the best recordings on pretty decent sound equipment don't quite feel the same physically in the way they make the hairs inside my ears buzz, and I don't often get to listen to the best recordings on pretty decent sound equipment. (Needless to say, I've never gotten much satisfaction out of headphones.)
I was mesmerized by watching all the people clapping. Something about the setup of that hall allows me to spectate. I could say it was like a flock of birds or tree leaves in the wind, but it was nothing so uniform; it was individuals, facing the same direction, making a similar movement, but with different bodies and different timings. It's not precisely strange that we clap to applaud, but it is a bit strange that once we pass playground clapping games, we don't clap in day-to-day life. I don't think. Most of us.
Another sign that this is Boston and not Dallas: almost everyone in the audience was badly dressed. Baggy khakis and faded untucked polos abounded. I am the last person to think you need to be "a suit" to enjoy hearing classical music performed live in one of the best acoustical spaces in America, or that such an occasion need always be formal. But if you're spending at least $60 on a Friday night ticket and another $8 on a drink at intermission, it seems perverse not to costume yourself for the occasion in even a token way. It seems a bit like spending six hours to cook the perfect meal, and then serving it on paper plates at a folding table. You could say all that matters is the sound or the taste, but if you're attuned to either of those you know that our senses interact and overlap.
On the subject of which, it was interesting to feel the music in my ears. Even the best recordings on pretty decent sound equipment don't quite feel the same physically in the way they make the hairs inside my ears buzz, and I don't often get to listen to the best recordings on pretty decent sound equipment. (Needless to say, I've never gotten much satisfaction out of headphones.)
I was mesmerized by watching all the people clapping. Something about the setup of that hall allows me to spectate. I could say it was like a flock of birds or tree leaves in the wind, but it was nothing so uniform; it was individuals, facing the same direction, making a similar movement, but with different bodies and different timings. It's not precisely strange that we clap to applaud, but it is a bit strange that once we pass playground clapping games, we don't clap in day-to-day life. I don't think. Most of us.
