The Israel Philharmonic’s visit to Hill Auditorium had been on my radar as a performance I knew I wanted to see since UMS released their schedule last year. The original plan was for the orchestra to be led by Maestro Zubin Mehta, a man who is probably the most successful Indian Western classical musician of all time. Unfortunately, due to health reasons, Maestro Mehta was sidelined for this event, so Maestro Yoel Levi had to conduct in his place. While Maestro Levi was certainly more than qualified to lead the Israel Philharmonic, a concert conducted by him simply doesn’t have the same allure as one conducted by Zubin Mehta, a veritable giant in the classical music field. Levi brought excitement to the performance as any good conductor should, but, in my opinion, the amount of technical errors made by the orchestra overshadowed the great energy on stage. The program started with the playing of the US National Anthem, followed by the Israeli one. Unfortunately, those were the best pieces they played on the concert. They started off the real program with a piece for string orchestra. It was fine, overall. I didn’t notice any major flaws or anything, but to me it just felt kind of boring. This could have been due to the piece as opposed to the players, though. They followed it up with Schubert’s third symphony to round out the first half. It was OK, again. My main gripe with this piece was the timpanist’s muting. Every time he hit a note, there was a sharp, audible cut off an eighth note later. As a timpanist myself, I can attest that nobody should be making that much extraneous noise, regardless of the style they choose to play or musical background they come from. It distracted me so much from the rest of the piece that I couldn’t focus on anything else. Most people in the audience probably didn’t even notice, but to me that was a huge red flag. The second half of the program was Tchaikovsky’s 6th symphony, a masterwork. Every major orchestra has played this piece a million times and Israel certainly cannot be an exception to that. Because of this, I am baffled at how many mistakes they made. Every time there was a run in the strings or brass, there was absolutely no clarity because they were simply not together. To make matters worse, there were times when the strings would finish a run and we would be left hearing an incorrect chord. The brass sounded kind of thin which cannot happen when playing powerful music like that of Tchaikovsky. The timpanist redeemed himself to an extent on this half. His strong playing led the orchestra through their best moments of the piece. Unfortunately, he had some tuning troubles. He was checking the low drum at intermission with a tuner, so maybe there was some sort of equipment malfunction, but it sounded out of tune at multiple spots. It was just disappointing to see a world class orchestral play such a standard piece with so many mistakes. The clarity issues could have been a result of a lack of familiarity with Hill Auditorium, an acoustically superior, yet really weird place to perform. The other mistakes don’t really have a justification, in my opinion, though. The encores were solid, but nothing special. They performed “Nimrod” from Elgar’s Enigma Variations and the “Waltz” from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. Just when it seemed as though the orchestra was about to redeem itself with an exciting rendition of the waltz, the end fell flat. As the rest of the orchestra hit an accelerando to end the piece, the low brass fell behind and simply couldn’t hang. Overall, it was a fitting end to an underwhelming performance by a group that I can only characterize as overhyped.
Month: February 2019
REVIEW: Oscar-Nominated Shorts (Live Action)
So often I am struck by how little film makers do with their medium. It is an art form that combines visual and audio elements more immersively than reading a book or perusing an gallery can really claim to do. Yet we end up with so many American Pie types, popular but containing no real depth. Emotion and meaning are dulled when movies become uniform in this way, and their power to deeply affect dies. Moreover, even the aesthetic capabilities of the film medium are often ignored, settling for unimaginative school or office buildings, with costume designers seeking normalcy so fervently that their characters’ dress becomes boring.
Fortunately, there are some who understand the abilities film has to deeply move its audience. All five of Academy Award-winning live action short films (Mother, Fauve, Marguerite, Detainment, and Skin) provoked a larger range of emotions in me than nearly any other movie I’ve ever seen. Mother gave me a feeling of creeping cold desolation, with its wide sweeping gaze at the empty beach in the beginning and end. Using the point of view of the lost boy’s mother gives the audience a closer look into her desperation and helplessness. We listen to him with her, clinging onto every word his soft voice says through the phone. The camera work is disorienting, making us panicky with the mother and grandmother as the reality of the situation sets in.
In Fauve, there are two drastically different sceneries: the wildly beautiful Canadian countryside (wildflowers, long grasses, mountains) and a stark mine site (plain grey earth for what seems like miles on all sides, reminiscent of an alien planet). The scenes in the mine site seem surreal compared to the lushness of the fields the boys travel through to get there. I almost expected the earth to begin to rumble and rise, revealing itself to be some enormous living creature.
Marguerite was the only one to make me cry, and one of the few movies that have ever made me cry. The loneliness she must have felt moved past the screen and into the most melancholy part of my mind. It is unclear whether she loved again after her soulmate was married, but because she lived alone in the movie, it seemed her companionless existence had been eternal. The whole movie had me feeling cold: the slowness of all her actions, the neatness of each room in the house, the millions of wrinkles lining her face.
I felt least connected to Detainment, though it disturbed me more fully than the true crime documentaries on TV have ever done. The documentary-esque style of the piece did not go well with the narrative tone, and the same few images of the boys abducting the baby were played over and over again, without adding much value to the film. However, the filmmakers played on the boys’ conflicting stories, which helped create an uncertain, uneasy feeling.
Skin was by far the most brilliant star of the five. It played on racism in modern America, the psychology of childhood development, gun politics and violence, the idea of innocence and how easily it can be destroyed, the uncertainty of placing blame…I could go on. It made me question my own life and thoughts, those of my family, of the country and the greater world. I had to catch myself when I unconciously started distancing myself from the white family’s attitudes and actions, recognizing the weakness in that thought, the automatic stereotypes I’d applied to make myself feel better. And when the two young boys locked eyes for the second time, I was haunted. Somehow within the film’s disturbing content, there was still an attention to lighting and landscape details that made it uncomfortably beautiful, the exquisite drip of blood, the lonely desert nothingness.
REVIEW: Too Many Zooz
In my musical experience, it doesn’t get much more obscure than a Monday night concert at the Bling Pig with a band that got its start on the New York subway. Lately, I’ve been finding myself going to concerts and events without much in the way of expectations or preconceptions. Blame it on the sentimentality of second semester senior year, because I’m suddenly desperate to soak in all the experiences I haven’t yet had during my time here at Umich. So, when my boyfriend invited me along to go see a show at the Bling Pig with his friends, I said yes. I grew up hearing my dad rave about the Bling Pig as a landmark venue for the region where he spent much of his raucous, hippy youth. Sadly, I’d just never made a point of going to see a show there. When the opportunity presented itself, I knew that it was my chance. That’s how I ended up at the Blind Pig on a Monday night for a performance by a band whose name I didn’t know, and man, am I glad I went.
The Bling Pig has that sort of grimy, hole-in-the-wall feeling that all the best venues have. Apparently, they usually serve free popcorn but that was not the case Monday night, to my boyfriend’s chagrin. We grabbed a hightop chair and section of counter along the side of the room so that this fun sized individual could actually see the stage. The opening act was The Essentials which seems a bit presumptuous, if you ask me. A small band from Toledo, The Essentials classify themselves as reggae/surf/punk. I would classify them as knock-off Sublime. If you can’t tell, I wasn’t particularly enamored with their set; it just brought back too many memories from my middle school girlfriend’s house in the summer.
Despite, this subpar opening act (it can’t be disappointing if you don’t have expectations) I was pleasantly surprised when Too Many Zooz took the stage and a neon-clad man started belting out a catchy tune on baritone sax. Too Many Zooz is probably one of the strangest groups I’ve ever seen perform both in appearance and sound. The members, Matt Doe, Leo P, and the King of Sludge definitely look like they started out playing on the subway. Each of them has a distinct style which does not mesh with the others creating a slightly confusing visual experience that makes it nearly impossible to look away. The saxophone player was the clear highlight of the performance as Matt Doe climbed on speakers in his neon rave outfit and expressed the full range of the bari sax. Their self-described music genre, brass house, is just as wild as the appearance and incredibly accurate. I couldn’t help but think “if they played this kind of music at Rick’s I would probably go a lot more often”. The performance was lively and fun, never allowing the energy to decline. I found myself wishing Leo P’s theory of our sweat condensing into clouds which would then rain down on us and provide some relief from the temperature of the room would come true. I know that I can’t always be this lucky, but this chance definitely payed off.
Image courtesy of Too Many Zooz’s official Facebook page
PREVIEW: Jazz + Chocolate
This Thursday, aka Valentine’s Day, my man is taking me out for some Jazz + Chocolate at Cultivate Coffee and Tap House in Ypsilanti. Cultivate is a hipster coffee shop meets brewery meets venue meets community center. If there’s something you want to do, you can probably do it at Cultivate. I first visited Cultivate a couple weeks ago to get some work done and found a dynamic, inviting space. The main room is full of long picnic tables but, unlike most spots on campus, no one gives you a dirty look if you sit next to them. There were students getting homework done while sipping coffee, folks meeting up for lunch and a beer, and teachers tutoring high school students. In addition to this awesome space and atmosphere, Cultivate also provides support for local businesses and runs a community garden behind their converted auto shop. One of the best things about Cultivate is that it’s actually super accessible from campus, just hop on the number 4 bus to Ypsi!
This Thursday, Cultivate will be transforming into a romantic spot for lovey dovey couples to drink wine, eat cake, and listen to jazz. Josef Deas will be performing, though I’m not entirely sure what that will look or sound like. He’s a local artist that has been on the scene for over five years and has performed at the Blind Pig in the past, so he must be pretty legit. One of my favorite things about jazz is how diverse the genre can be, so I’m always up for a jazz fusion-y surprise. And, if nothing else, there’s always the cake.
Graphic courtesy of the Cultivate Facebook page
REVIEW: Frances Luke Accord and The Western Den
As I entered the building on Main Street after a long day of academic obligations, I rushed in to escape the wintry air, feeling hesitant to enter completely as I was surrounded by scaffolding. After learning that the Ark was having construction done on its box office, I understood why I was greeted upstairs by a polite woman who was a designated volunteer for the event. Despite the initial impression of it being run-down and unprofessional, I was quickly reassured that this was a venue for legends as I walked down the long hallway that was at the top of the stairs, gazing at the professional photos taken of every musician that had performed there. After buying concessions, I took my seat in the dark performance room; the room housed a small stage that was glowing in violet lights and seats for the public at tables near the stage and in rows throughout the room. This was the Ark, and I couldn’t wait for the intimate performance to begin.
The night began with an opening by The Western Den, a contemporary folk group based in Massachusetts whose first collaborative performance with the main musical act had been that night, I would come to learn. She was a singer and keyboardist, he was a singer and guitarist, she was a violinist and bassist, he was a trumpeter, and he was a drummer. I failed to remember their names, but I remembered their images, their personas. All five members of the group suited the instruments they played strikingly well, and I was emotionally intact with the way they had orchestrated themselves even before they started playing. The music they shared was eccentric and refreshing; they played unpopular chords almost in a melancholic way, but with a rich tone and heavy bearing that came off as passionate rather than temperamental. I was completely relaxed during their performance, taken aback by the impressive compositions that this small, relatively unknown group had to offer.
This performance was followed by a short intermission, during which I acquired more tea from the concessions, and then the main musical act. Unlike how the name suggests, Frances Luke Accord is a group of two men; however, they were able to convey a solitary essence as they merely used their voices and a few of their instruments to create their music. Both of the men transitioned between their several acoustic guitars between their songs, all while using their sole two voices to successfully create vocal layerings that are more often achieved by groups with several members. Since we were able to focus only on their voices and their guitars, I was able to follow the mood that they wanted to convey for each of their songs. I noticed when they would play more percussively to portray a chorus or other musical release, when they would take long strums of their guitars to fill up the room, and when they would quietly pluck the guitar strings to create a soft, mellow mood as the end. I was on edge throughout most of the performance, eager to see what new direction they would take us in with each second that passed.
Overall, I left this event very pleased and I felt like I wanted to stay in the Ark forever. While I was unsure what the outcome of my experience at this event would be, I am happy to say that I can trust my curiosity in new experiences to lead me towards the things in life that bring me true joy.
REVIEW: Israel Philharmonic Orchestra
It’s been some time since I last attended a Western classical music concert. I was excited to see the programme, which included a Concertino for Strings, Schubert’s Symphony No. 3, and Tchaikovsky’s Symphony 6, Pathetique. The Concertino I thought was a pleasing piece but lacked a storyline to give the music direction. I wasn’t too familiar with Schubert beforehand, so I enjoyed hearing his 3rd symphony, finding it more elegant and a little less thunderous than Beethoven. Being a fan of Sleeping Beauty and Swan Lake, however, I was most excited to hear Pathetique for the first time. I am not a particularly emotional or vividly imaginative thinker, so I was surprised to find myself with incredibly clear mental images for each movement of the symphony. The first movement, for example, evoked the feeling of someone in such deep despair that they were almost angry, and even I found it incredibly moving.
I knew the Israel Philharmonic would be good, but I was completely unprepared for how good. Even their tuning sounded like music. I loved watching the musicians move; in the first piece particularly, the orchestra was so in tune with each other that their instruments and bodies moved not just at the same times but at the same angles. While this is something that does occur in other professional orchestras I’ve seen perform, the synchrony was especially marked here. And, of course, they were perfectly aurally synchronized as well. I’ve been told before that when instruments are perfectly in tune with each other, you can hear the note vibrating in your ear. That comment referred to instruments playing the same note. The Israel Philharmonic, meanwhile, at one point played a set of different notes that were so perfectly dissonant it caused my ear to thrum in an oddly comforting way. I was floored. The musicians created a more nuanced interpretation of the music than I’ve ever heard. For example, Pathetique began with the double basses fading in, and ended with the double basses fading out. Normally, it’s easy to tell when instruments stop and start, since it’s almost impossible to go from the absence of sound to sound without that transition being obvious, but the Israel Philharmonic managed this almost-impossible feat with deceptive ease.
And then came the encores. I was almost disappointed when Yoel Levi, the conductor, stepped back onto his podium, because how could anything be adequate to follow Tchaikovsky? And then they began to play a piece I didn’t recognize (I later learned it was Elgar’s Nimrod), and I immediately realized they’d found something that was not only adequate but perfect to follow Tchaikovsky. I look forward to listening to Nimrod again soon, but I’m afraid a recording of the piece will not do it the justice that the Israel Philharmonic did. And then Levi came out for a second encore, and I was again disappointed, but once again, that disappointment dissipated into a sort of melting sensation as they began to play the waltz from Swan Lake. Gazing at Hill Auditorium’s intricate ceiling as one of my favorite pieces of music washed through me, I wondered why I had bothered to wear makeup that night, as this music was bringing all my usually-docile emotions and stirring them up, leaving me feeling exposed in a way no makeup could adequately cover.
