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Not Just the Planets
Mar. 8th, 2013 12:45 amSaturday, we went to the symphony with replacement tickets for the snow day when nobody could get to symphony hall. So I didn't have any idea what they were playing, and then we were barely on time because of traffic in the parking garage, so I didn't really have time to do more than glance at the program as I took my seat.
The hall was packed, I figured because of all the people disrupted by the snow day, because the first piece was by Hindemith, who is one of those composers who writes deliberately discordant harmonic lines to challenge you. I don't mean atonal: I mean intending to upset your ear, and in your face about it. He is, without exaggeration, one of those people who made the Nazis decide they needed to kill all the intellectuals and get back to polka. I happen to like Hindemith, much in the way I like Alien Sex Fiend and Lou Reed, although I think he overplays his hand and can get a little thin. Point being: not a sell-out headliner.
So after that opener, everybody claps politely, and they shuffle things around on stage and roll out a piano. And out walks a friendly-looking chap, and well gosh it's Lang Lang, probably the best concert pianist alive, sitting down to play Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2.
It was the best. It was just the best. I spent many years of my life studying classical piano in Dallas, home of the Van Cliburn competition, the most important piano contest in the world. Maybe even the most significant classical music contest. Consequently, I've been fortunate enough to see many of the top pianists of the last few decades at various points in their careers, getting their game on. I had not, however, seen Lang Lang.
He really is the best. It's not hype. Best. Fortunately, I had worn fine leather opera gloves and my hands were sufficiently armored to participate in the extended clapping.
The third piece, Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra, was necessarily a letdown. And a reminder that John Williams worked with the BSO extensively, because he lifted sections wholesale for the Star Wars score. I mean really.
The hall was packed, I figured because of all the people disrupted by the snow day, because the first piece was by Hindemith, who is one of those composers who writes deliberately discordant harmonic lines to challenge you. I don't mean atonal: I mean intending to upset your ear, and in your face about it. He is, without exaggeration, one of those people who made the Nazis decide they needed to kill all the intellectuals and get back to polka. I happen to like Hindemith, much in the way I like Alien Sex Fiend and Lou Reed, although I think he overplays his hand and can get a little thin. Point being: not a sell-out headliner.
So after that opener, everybody claps politely, and they shuffle things around on stage and roll out a piano. And out walks a friendly-looking chap, and well gosh it's Lang Lang, probably the best concert pianist alive, sitting down to play Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2.
It was the best. It was just the best. I spent many years of my life studying classical piano in Dallas, home of the Van Cliburn competition, the most important piano contest in the world. Maybe even the most significant classical music contest. Consequently, I've been fortunate enough to see many of the top pianists of the last few decades at various points in their careers, getting their game on. I had not, however, seen Lang Lang.
He really is the best. It's not hype. Best. Fortunately, I had worn fine leather opera gloves and my hands were sufficiently armored to participate in the extended clapping.
The third piece, Bartok's Concerto for Orchestra, was necessarily a letdown. And a reminder that John Williams worked with the BSO extensively, because he lifted sections wholesale for the Star Wars score. I mean really.
