Ungodly Rude
2005-02-20,

Nearly live, from the halls of a church in Cleveland Heights, I bring you this most likely uninspired journal entry. I'm using the notebook (which we've started calling Lappy) we recently got for the business to tippy-tap my way through Heather's orchestra concert. I'm not bored, just anxious to use our new-bought tech in new ways. SO far, it's a lovely, languishing piece by... I dunno-- I kinda forget to pick up a program on the way up to the balcony. Oops. Anyway, the sound is really good up here, bouncing around the high-arched cieling of the sanctuary. Darkwood buttresses, thick stone columns, the works. Oh- the timpani sounds particularly good here; thunderous, as it should be. The acoustics get a little muddy for orchestra sound down in the main pews; a drawback of the fear- and awe-inspiring height of the room, I suppose. Oh - I just remembered that I have the camera with me. Here's the hall from the balcony:

The attendance is pretty pitiful, but then, so is the weather. Lots of older folks come out to these performances, so I reckon they're not much with truckin' with the snowstorm we're having right now. We weren't even sure there was going to be a concert tonight, but lo and behold, here we are.

The first piece is over, and there's an uncomfortable, long pause. Te director normally walks off after every piece, and he's yet to return, and it's ben a good four minutes now. No one in the orchestra look particularly alarmed right now... ah, the soloist strolls in. Long blonde hair, flowing dress, typical flautist.

This must be the 'modern' piece that H was talking about, because it's got your typical 'modern' piece introduction: long, haunting tones, dissonance between sections, piercing rises from the flute, and of course, the 'Day In the Life' swell. And slow, so slow. Slow=deep, to some. Oh yes, and sudden bursts of up-down chaos. Not sure what imagery the composer is trying to evoke, but so far it feels like Christmas on Mount Olympus, with an occasional swarm of angry bees. I really should have picked up a program. Maybe after the bees are done attacking.

I'm thinking that typing a journal entry in the middle of a sanctuary is rather unpious, but then, I'm rather unpious. I was courteous enough to at least sit in the balcony, so as to not look like I'm totally dissing the performance - which I'm not doing, anyway. I'm fully listening to the show. It's just nice to be able to get some of my thoughts out of my head, whereas normally in situations like these, they'd be just spinning around until they fall off the merry-go-round, lost. Of course, some of these thoughts are better off lost, anyway, but so be it.

Still having trouble with the flute-solo piece. The soloist is a fine player, but the work itself is increasingly uninspiring - if levels of uninspiriation are able to increase, that is. The piece is over now; thankful applause, and now some guy is getting up from the audience to shake hands with the director and soloist. Oh dear- I think it's the composer himself. Oh! There's a break. Be back in a bit.

Back from the break; consulted with H and the program, and yes, it was in fact the composer in the audience. Strange to think that some classical composers are actually alive, let alone nearby and watching their work get performed. This forces me to say something nicer about his piece: let's see... there was a nifty section of point/counter-point in the horn section, like a hunter's call bouncing through a misty valley; also, a neat but short xylophone section that I won't bother trying to interpret in this medium. There, all better.

They're on their last piece, the Czech Suite in D Major. Other than the oboe feature player having a little trouble with a flourish, quite nice. Between movements, I can hear the late winter wind beating at the stained glass. No joy will this ride home be, save for the company of my wife. I always enjoy watching her play; she seems so comfortable up there, at home in the orchestra. She says she's not too socially mixed with the group, mainly cos she lives so far away and doesn't have the time to socialize before and after rehearsals like most of the others. I knew this was true tonight, when I was talking with one of the french horn players: he's a middle school music teacher, and did not, in fact, know that H was the daughter of a regionally famous/infamous high school band director, recently retired. Being the daughter of a dynasty has its advantages; I'm surprised that she doesn't use it more.

They're on the fourth movement of five, time to shut down.

Speaking of fourth, why is it 'fourth' and 'four', but 'forty'? Where went the U? Surely, the British must be to blame for this.

-- End Transmission --