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more concert reviews
May. 17th, 2011 08:42 amNot everything I attend is that dodgy.
Last night, for instance, I went to Oshman for a violin recital by Corey Cerovsek. Highly precise and inventive on his Strad, he was well-matched with Paavali Jumppanen on piano. They trod in perfect coordination through a lesser Beethoven sonata (Op. 30 no. 2) and Debussy's Third Sonata. I suppose it's a tribute to Jumppanen's pianism that Debussy's over-ripe harmonies made me feel slightly ill and reminded me vividly of why I hate Debussy, something I'd thought I was getting over.
Following intermission, in the tradition of the old-time violinists, came a selection of slush, much of it written by old-time violinists themselves like Fritz Kreisler (one of whose pieces I'd heard before) and Henryk Wieniawski (whose fantasy on Gounod's Faust went on and on: Cerovsek had warned us that there was a spot in this piece which sounded like it was ending but wasn't; when it came I was fooled, because of all the previous spots in the piece which sounded like it was ending, or at least I dearly hoped so).
Dinner beforehand with some fellow concert-goers, including a woman of about my own age who, when I said I live with my wife and two cats, immediately went bright-eyed and wanted to know all about the cats: their names, appearance, and behavior. (She didn't care about my wife, who wasn't there: neither were the cats.)
Return with me now to Sunday. When I bought my ticket to the San Francisco Symphony Youth Orchestra concert, I didn't know it would be the day of the Bay to Breakers race up in the City. Fortunately I managed to avoid most of that madness on my way to Davies and then out to the Richmond district to fetch my hat, which had landed out there the previous week.
Judged as a professional orchestra, their reading of The Planets was interesting, giving a blunt, heavy account of Holst's ethereal movements like Venus and Neptune, flutes tromping through the music like Wellington boots through mud. And there were enough brass flubs to remind me of the SFS itself in the bad old Ozawa days, though the horns were good. The point is, though, that this was a youth orchestra, high school kids, and that they tempted me to judge them by such exacting professional standards is a mark of what really excellent musicians they are in every other respect. I think I can blame music director Donato Cabrera for zipping through Mars and Jupiter too fast, though. Also on the program, Bartok's Divertimento and one great old-time potboiler, Brahms' Academic Festival Overture.
Last night, for instance, I went to Oshman for a violin recital by Corey Cerovsek. Highly precise and inventive on his Strad, he was well-matched with Paavali Jumppanen on piano. They trod in perfect coordination through a lesser Beethoven sonata (Op. 30 no. 2) and Debussy's Third Sonata. I suppose it's a tribute to Jumppanen's pianism that Debussy's over-ripe harmonies made me feel slightly ill and reminded me vividly of why I hate Debussy, something I'd thought I was getting over.
Following intermission, in the tradition of the old-time violinists, came a selection of slush, much of it written by old-time violinists themselves like Fritz Kreisler (one of whose pieces I'd heard before) and Henryk Wieniawski (whose fantasy on Gounod's Faust went on and on: Cerovsek had warned us that there was a spot in this piece which sounded like it was ending but wasn't; when it came I was fooled, because of all the previous spots in the piece which sounded like it was ending, or at least I dearly hoped so).
Dinner beforehand with some fellow concert-goers, including a woman of about my own age who, when I said I live with my wife and two cats, immediately went bright-eyed and wanted to know all about the cats: their names, appearance, and behavior. (She didn't care about my wife, who wasn't there: neither were the cats.)
Return with me now to Sunday. When I bought my ticket to the San Francisco Symphony Youth Orchestra concert, I didn't know it would be the day of the Bay to Breakers race up in the City. Fortunately I managed to avoid most of that madness on my way to Davies and then out to the Richmond district to fetch my hat, which had landed out there the previous week.
Judged as a professional orchestra, their reading of The Planets was interesting, giving a blunt, heavy account of Holst's ethereal movements like Venus and Neptune, flutes tromping through the music like Wellington boots through mud. And there were enough brass flubs to remind me of the SFS itself in the bad old Ozawa days, though the horns were good. The point is, though, that this was a youth orchestra, high school kids, and that they tempted me to judge them by such exacting professional standards is a mark of what really excellent musicians they are in every other respect. I think I can blame music director Donato Cabrera for zipping through Mars and Jupiter too fast, though. Also on the program, Bartok's Divertimento and one great old-time potboiler, Brahms' Academic Festival Overture.
