Last night, Hill Auditorium hosted the Orchestre Métropolitain de Montréal with singer Joyce DiDonato. The concert started out with the overture to Mozart’s La Clemenza di Tito. They performed this work with a smaller orchestra that only took up about half the stage. The instrumentation consisted of strings, a few winds, a couple trumpets, and timpani. Once Ms. DiDonato joined the orchestra, the trumpets and timpanist left and a clarinetist made their way to the front of the stage to be featured alongside her. I had heard of Ms. DiDonato many times, but I had never actually heard her sing live. She was incredible. Her voice sounded exactly like you would expect an opera singer’s to sound. This is likely because she has set a standard in singing that others strive to match. The interplay between her and the clarinetist was fascinating the watch as they alternated similar phrases. She was able to perfectly match the articulation and timbre of the clarinet using just her voice. In addition, she mimicked the other winds flawlessly, especially in the first aria. There was a moment where she had a run of doubled notes that the flute played at a different time where she embodied the character of a flautist to a T. As an encore, she joined the orchestra for a rendition of “Voi che sapete” from The Marriage of Figaro. She used an iPad for the arias from La Clemenza, but she had this one memorized. It was clear she had performed it many times. She really took control of the stage by incorporating some acting into her performance and having some fun with Maestro Nézet-Séguin and the assistant principal first violinist. Overall, the first half of the concert was great, especially for those who are big fans of opera. On the second half, the orchestra played Anton Bruckner’s Fourth Symphony. Bruckner’s music is best known for it’s epic, massive moments and this symphony had plenty of them. The size of the orchestra seemingly doubled between the first and second halves with a full brass section, a timpanist, and about half a string section joining the chamber orchestra from the first half. I thought the orchestra performed the piece very well, overall. There were some questionable moments where the horns might have had an off night or the timpani might have been too loud for my liking, but mistakes happen in performances and everyone has their own opinion as to what sounds best. The piece seemed to follow a structure of peaks and valleys which, honestly, gets pretty old in a symphony that’s over an hour long. We’d hear a couple minutes of really loud, awesome music, followed by some softer, prettier stuff. I feel like most great symphonies have a few moments that are really special and people immediately think of them when they think of that symphony. This one had so many big moments that I can’t remember any of them because, even though they were awesome when I heard them, they all blended together. None of this is the fault of the orchestra, of course. They played it in a very convincing manner and Maestro Nézet-Séguin commanded the podium with an incredible energy. They closed the night with a really cool encore by Violet Archer, a composer I had never heard of. I really enjoyed the piece and was grateful that Maestro Nézet-Séguin exposed the audience to it. I have seen him perform twice at Hill now, and he has been fantastic both times. I will surely be going back if I see his name on the UMS schedule again next year!
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REVIEW: Vivaldi’s Four Seasons / Max Richter’s Vivaldi Recomposed
Musically directed by the award-winning British violinist Daniel Hope, the Zurich Symphony Orchestra brought the Hill Auditorium to life in a stunning performance of Antonio Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, and the UMS premiere of Max Richter’s Recomposed: Vivaldi – The Four Seasons.
Without a conductor, I was stunned to see the synchronization of this ensemble as the passages of the music would swell and subside. I observed the seamless communication of the ensemble members and the dynamics that flew to the auditorium ceiling and rolled like a broken wave to the very farthest row of the top balcony, captivating us with every note.
Upon the opening of Vivaldi: Recomposed, Daniel Hope encouraged the audience to enter in, saying “Mr. Richter’s reworking meant listening again to what is constantly new in a piece we think we are hearing when, really, we just blank it out.” From stage he shared the hopes that Richter had shared with him back in 2012: since Vivaldi’s music can be so oversaturated, he dreadfully wanted to reclaim its majesty through a new and awe-inspiring frame.
With a dreamy splash of lighting on the stage, Richter’s creative imagining of Vivaldi’s work cascaded into the audience. I caught myself almost laughing for joy in a state of sheer wonder-struck incredulity. This music lifts one up from themselves and draws them into something deep and grand. While Vivaldi’s Four Seasons was played with only one pause for applause, Richter’s Vivaldi: Composed was swept through without one. In the moments of break in between movements, you could hear thick anticipation hanging in the air.
The evening concluded with multiple standing ovations, so many, in fact, that Daniel Hope led the orchestra through three encore pieces that delighted the audience. We were given the ending of a movement from Vivaldi’s Concerto in A Minor, George Gershwin’s I’ve Got Rhythm, and a warming piece from Kurt Weill’s Knickerbocker Holiday. Each time an encore piece was finished, Hope would walk off stage, only to return with a shrug and a smile. Finally, amidst the grand applause, Daniel Hope played a charming solo rendition of Brahm’s Lullaby, delicately nudging the audience to take a hint and go home. This was a heart-warming moment, however, as each audience member began to gently hum the tune back, filling the auditorium with a wholesome glow.
As I was leaving the auditorium, I overheard an audience member beckon another to exit first as he jokingly remarked, “That’s what Vivaldi does to me.” This nearly imperceivable moment demonstrates exactly how the beauty of music strengthens the benevolence of our souls and encourages the virtues of the heart. My spirit was absolutely lifted by the music of Vivaldi and Richter, reminding me of exactly what a showcase of the arts should be about.
PREVIEW: Orchestre Métropolitain de Montréal
On Wednesday November 20th at 7:30, Hill Auditorium will play host to the Orchestre Métropolitain de Montréal, featuring Music Director Yannick Nézet-Séguin and superstar Mezzo-Soprano, Joyce DiDonato. This is not the first appearance at Hill for either Nézet-Séguin or DiDonato. They performed a collaborative recital last year with Maestro Nézet-Séguin accompanying Ms. DiDonato on piano. Maestro Nézet-Séguin is also the music director of the Philadelphia Orchestra and he conducted them here last fall. On this concert, Ms. DiDonato will perform arias from Mozart’s La Clemenza di Tito, one of the last operas he ever worked on. They will follow the Mozart up with Anton Bruckner’s 4th symphony in E flat Major. Bruckner’s works have become more widely recorded as of late. Maestro Nézet-Séguin and this orchestra actually released a recording of his 4th symphony in 2011. This concert promises to be a great night of serious music making with some of the best musicians in the business right now. Tickets are still available and can be purchased on the UMS website or from the ticket office in the League.
REVIEW: Loch na hEala (Swan Lake)
Michael Keegan-Dolan’s Loch na hEala opens with the spectacle of a nearly-nude man roped to a cinder block at the stage’s center. The man bleats like goat as he circles his anchorage. From this moment, the audience finds itself gripped with a foreboding curiosity as we are introduced to a small ensemble who guides us through a layered and winding three-pronged retelling of Swan Lake.
Included in the bulletin is a piece written by Keegan-Dolan himself as he reflects on the nature of change, “No matter how unwelcome, [change] is an inevitable part of life: nature’s forces are constantly moving, seeking balance so that life can continue to endlessly unfold.” The spirit of this excerpt was something I observed to be an underlying current in this narrative of moving parts; ultimately, a commentary on the sickness of depression that brings imbalance to life.
The formlessness of this performance keeps one on the edge of their seat, for the troupe distracts and enchants through technical proficiency and the dissonance of chaos that rings consistently. We are told that the darkness in any story is there to teach us something, and that lesson from Swan Lake is that the inability to will change and a failure to know one’s deeper hungers can ultimately lead to the corruption of your spirit. The dark tone of this show left a poor taste in my mouth, but I still felt uplifted by the music and choreography that could be found amidst a show that ultimately seems to appeal to more depraved inclinations.
The choreographed numbers weaved throughout this piece proved to be crafted and technically stunning. I found myself drawn in by these sweeping movements up against a backdrop of potential demise held at bay. Another great highlight was the musical score provided by Slow Moving Clouds, a Dublin-based folk band that combines Nordic and Irish traditional music with minimalist and experimental influences. Often their music was a prominent influence of a scene yet remained well-hidden, otherwise providing tension or joviality to a dynamic.
The evening ended in a standing ovation, and as I rose to join them mid-clap, I paused and asked myself, exactly what are we celebrating here tonight? While Teaċ Daṁsa pours itself out to express the reality of depression and a life’s potential for tragedy, is praising a work that frames dread as the true reality something that deserves to be called beautiful? While it is true that stories that focus simply on the light often do not fully express what it means to be human, it is not enough to celebrate the darkness without conceding that light does outshine it. A praise-worthy work of art should be something that not only acknowledges darkness and pain, but shows us its true value, to point us to the light.
It was a privilege to attend Teaċ Daṁsa’s crafted work, for few performances have truly invited me to enter into such deep reflection of art and form such as Loch na hEala, an experience that I will not soon forget.
REVIEW: Teaċ Daṁsa Loch na hEala (Swan Lake)
This weekend I saw the most interesting interpretation of Swan Lake I could have imagined. It was put on by a traveling group of performers, why have been touring with this show since 2016, and have won several awards, both for their production and choreography. The music is described as “Nordic and Irish traditional music with minimalist and experimental influences”. So, I expected maybe a little bit of deviation from the normal storyline of Swan Lake. However, when I walked into the theater, there was a man on stage, wearing a cloth diaper, attached to a cinder block by a rope around his neck, bleating like a goat. Immediately I knew this was not going to be anything like what I had expected, and I was certainly correct. Although there was a lot of symbolism and parts of the performance I did not understand, I definitely enjoyed it more than I thought I would.
The story is narrated by an older man, who acted as both characters in the show, as well as sound effects for different elements of scenes. This man was incredibly talented, playing two people with completely unique voices in one conversation, voicing a radio that was changing channels, and being the sounds of a police vehicle, to name a few of the noises he imitated. His talent almost made you forget you had seen him practically naked and making animal noises at the beginning of the performance. Throughout the show, he tells the story of a younger man and his struggles of depression while living on a moor in Ireland.
The story was sometimes beautiful, and sometimes quite unnerving, which certainly made for a lasting impression. One of these scenes was a birthday party which was held for the depressed young man, and the people who showed up clearly were meant to be disturbed or off-putting in some way. They danced around in a halting jumble of bodies and noises while the young man’s caretaker, his grandmother, cackled into a microphone. She was also holding a cake, which several of the party attendees attacked and grabbed chunks of with their hands, shoving it into their mouths with reckless abandonment. By the end of the scene, they had all preyed upon or overwhelmed each other, and the dance ended with them all motionless, lying on the stage. The emotion of the scene was interestingly unreachable; as an audience member, I was unsure of whether I was supposed to feel pity for this party of strange beings, or whether they were enjoying themselves, and had given into carnal desires by the end. I couldn’t tell if it was actually the party that seemed to be unenjoyable, or it was the young man’s depressed interpretation of the scene. It was entirely disconcerting to be unsure of how to react to what was happening in front of me, and these conflicting emotions stayed with me until the end of the show, where I was still wondering what to make of this haunting scene.
In contrast to some of the more interesting sequences, there were some beautiful dances that mesmerized me. When the young man goes to commit suicide, he is stopped by a young woman in white with angel wings, and they are joined by others in the same outfit. They danced together, in a mix of lyrical and fluid styles. The way the women in white whirled around the young man, almost touching him but not quite, was a display of the immense work they had put into the dance as it was impossible to look away from their ducking and weaving around each other, so close but not quite touching. The ending of the show was definitely the most impressive part, as the different dancers helped to spread small white feathers all over the stage. There must have been pounds of feathers drifting all over, as they threw them up into the air, swirled them around themselves, and even brushed them into the audience. It was amazing how much it looked like it was snowing, and it was even cooler how the dancers’ individual movements were all it took to push the feathers into the sky.
Although the dancing was the focus of the show, the music was by far my favorite part. A small group at the back of the stage played mostly string instruments, sang, and certainly set the mood of each dance. The music was haunting, and soothing, and graceful, all with an undertone of Irish melody. It certainly was a key ingredient in making this show spectacular.
At the end, I wasn’t sure what exactly I had just experienced, but I knew I enjoyed it. I spent the rest of the evening thinking about the show, and what different dances or parts might have meant. I think that is the mark of a good performance- one that makes you think about it long after exiting the theater.
REVIEW: Sankai Juku, Meguri: Teeming Sea, Tranquil Land
After experiencing the Japanese dance form of butoh through Sankai Juku’s meditative performance, I felt both emotionally disturbed yet liberated. The continuous 90-minute ‘dance’ performance, composed of seven distinct acts, is supposedly choreographed to emanate the circularity within processes and systems such as the earth’s transformation and its movement through the four seasons. The eight performers are powdered a stark white from head to toe, donning bald heads, asymmetrical earrings, and mostly white, sarong-like costumes on their lower halves. They move in correspondence to emotionally dynamic music and express a “dialogue with gravity” through both graceful and grotesque movements marked by spinning, jumping, and eerie bodily gesturing. It is personally difficult for me to describe Sankai Juku through a traditional ‘dance’ perspective; I fail to see it confined to any form of dance theatre that I have experienced before. Sankai Juku as a whole feels more akin to a poetically disturbing expression of the human experience, while their interpretation of meguri translates as a storytelling experience that is facilitated by the mostly monochrome stage lighting that changed with each act.
I thought Ushio Amagatsu’s portrayal of the grotesque within the context of meguri communicated to the audience particularly well; Act V, titled Forest of Fossils, left me especially disturbed with my thoughts asunder. It was during this section that I finally reached some sort of understanding of the performers’ wide, gaping, mouths and permanently perturbed eyes – to me, they communicated agony in discovery and marked the climax of the program. During Act V, only three performers are present on a stage set aglow with greenish light; the music is both tensely trembling and pulsating with the sounds of rocks grinding, which calls to mind the natural shifting of the earth’s tectonic plates. Paralleling the earth’s provocations are the performers, who appear the most agitated that they have been, with one performer gesturing the most frantically and in the most ‘agony’ – at one point, that performer drags his limbs across the powdery ground in a tight spiral to form two symmetrical circles, then subsequently emotes in pure tension and agony around the formation of those two circles. The remaining two performers respond in an unsettling symmetry, and their generally upwards arm movements seem to be grasping at some unattainable substance or idea. The desperation and agony contained within this grotesque imagery, combined with the increasingly jarring music, left me feeling deeply unsettled and in rumination of Amagutsu’s artistic intent behind that section.
As much as I enjoyed the dichotomy between the grotesqueness of Amagutsu’s work and the beauty in the circularity and meguri it conveyed, I think the most uniquely beautiful aspect of Sankai Juku is how the performance manages to maintain universality in evoking the most visceral of emotions from its audience. My disturbed reaction to and interpretation of agony from Act V, Forest of Fossils, differs from the next audience member, yet the emotional impact of this does not seem to suffer in the face of Sankai Juku’s widely interpretable themes derived from the human experience.
