Loving music
The anticipation and the disillusion of music.
Love music and love people. If ever in doubt — or if forced to choose —
choose people.
- William Cheng
When I first came across Mozart in the Jungle, the U.S. web television series streamed by Amazon, I found some familiarity in the Maestro Rodrigo –aside from being played by Gael García Bernal. The way he talked, related and became part of the New York Symphony. On Thursday, I realized that the connection was Gustavo Dudamel. Perhaps tied with Alondra de la Parra, Dudamel was one of the conductors I longed to see in my lifetime. After much anticipation, the day came. Life came together then and there. The days prior and the following ones where mostly a whirlwind of emotions that took over most of my cognisant listening. But for that moment I listened. I may have risked getting sanctioned from the Walt Disney Concert Hall, but I listened. My goal was not to record the symphony as the microphones all around the main auditorium but to capture the vibrations and the changes in decibels, in tone, in dissonance, and in synchrony.
Organs are one of my favorite architectural pieces embedded in colossal edifications. From Catholic Churches to concert halls, I always find myself mesmerized by organs –their look, their tactile disparity, and the enveloping vibrations of the reverberating brass. I knew that the over 6,000-pipe organ would not make a sonic intervention. However, one can only dream, right? One by one, musicians started warming up, going over chords, and parts of different movements that could not be told apart:
All of a sudden, silence. The first violin takes the stage. The audience coordinates choreographed applause. As the lights dim, the room silences. Even while full, the sonic perception is of a small, quiet room. As the stage door opens, the once choreographed applause is overtaken by rainfall of acknowledgment. The Maestro warmly greets his orchestra, before turning to the audience, welcoming them to their home. As the Maestro lifts his baton, the auditorium goes silent again. You can almost hear the lightweight material cut through the air.
[I could not find a recording Ives Symphony №1 directed by Gustavo Dudamel, nor with the LA Philharmonic. This is as close as it gets]
During the intermission, the hall emptied. Sonically, it felt as if the room got smaller.
The auditorium started to draw people back in, preparing for the maestoso Allegro of Dvořák Symphony №7. These are thirteen minutes of the second half of the night’s program.
After the final Allegro, anticipation overflowed to thank the symphony orchestra and Dudamel –and surprisingly his lead timpani. After a five-minute ovation, the hall began to silence once more, until it shrunk to the size of a recording room.
As a side note, this was my disillusion-based playlist of the week. Some months back Alanis Morissette came to mind. Google prived me on her future appearances. At some point during my listening practice, I [very late] found out about her ‘Jagged Little Pill 25th Anniversary Tour’. I cursed all who bought tickets only to resell them while listening to this:
[…] If forced to choose, choose people.
This is a footnote. After stumbling into a mistakenly-timestamped recording of myself, I got to thinking about what I sounded like and wondering what I sounded like today– in timbre more than in tone. At some point when I lived in South America, friends used to tease me about my Mexican accent; when I visited Mexico, the emphasis was a Colombian accent. I wondered if it had happened again.
As I entered a close friend’s premiere, several acquaintances gathered close to the bar area. As the group grew larger, the guest of a friend noticed that she had entered the Spanish-speaking cluster, followed by the question: “Are you all from Ibero?” To which we nodded.
I came back to this thought the morning after. I didn’t notice the tone nor the timbre, but it felt intimate in some way.
