So it’s pretty clear that today is the nicest day ever, and I am inside writing a paper for school because earlier in the week, when the weather was bad, I procrastinated and did other things. Right now the temperature is in the mid-70s, and there is a cloudless sky of deep blue. The azaleas have just peaked next door, and are so bright and pink as to almost be vulgar. Indeed, color that vivid outside of nature would be seen as offensive. Elke just gave me another heap of fresh strawberries, and I am watching the squirrels through the window foraging for acorns, of which there were millions this year. I am presently listening to Bach’s Flute Sonata in E Flat Major, BWV 1031.
I had a little time before class this morning, and since I needed a book at Goering’s Bookstore, I walked across campus to their now–as far as I can tell–sole Gainesville location on NW 1st Avenue west of 17th Street (now appropriately re-named Lt. Corey Dahlem Drive). Goering’s had until recently also been in the plaza at the southwest corner of University Avenue and 34th Street, and, of course, long ago was at the corner of University and 13th Street, in a building that has now been demolished, while the University Corners project sits stalled. Nevertheless, the book I needed for my English Romanticism course was not in stock, so I, and the rest of ENL3241, will have to get by without it.
Not wanting the whole trip to be for naught, I strolled across the street to the post office, where I found in my box two parcel slips indicating that packages awaited me inside. Back in the glory days of 2001-2005, these salmon-colored cards were an almost daily notice of a newly acquired CD won on eBay. These days, however, I very seldom receive such booty, so these parcel notices caught me off guard.
The envelopes associated with said slips turned out to contain pleasant surprises: a new CD by pianist Wu Han performing Scriabin, Rachmaninoff and Tchaikovsky; and a brand new cloth-bound, hardcover book called Authenticity Is Now.
Authenticity Is Now is significant to me for the simple reason that it includes amongst its glossy color pages a photograph of mine. Verily, in Chapter 2, on page 48 you’ll find my full-page picture of a lawn ornament deer. An oddity, for sure, but that’s what the publisher, Ziba Design, asked me for. The people at Ziba seemed very nice, too. Huzzah, book!
The Wu Han CD came from the ArtistLed label, which I have mentioned here before. They are unique among classical music record labels in being run entirely by the artists themselves, who choose the repertoire and even the takes that make it to disc. David Finckel–of the Emerson String Quartet–and pianist Wu Han–co-director of the Music at Menlo Festival–are well-served by the ArtistLed label, as the performances and recordings are of a consistently high quality.
This new disc includes Tchaikovsky’s Les Saisons, Op. 37, which is a piece I have loved for some time, particularly the sixth movement, “Juin: Barcarolle”. Wu Han plays it with a distinct pulse and less affectation than I have heard from most other performers.
My only regret is perhaps absurdly persnickety, and concerns a subtle bit of phrasing that I have grown so fond of in Vladimir Ashkenazy’s Decca set. Listen for the note cluster:
Ashkenazy uses a good deal of rubato–perhaps too much for some–but I love that little bit of dissonance. It is less evident in Wu Han’s recording, but nobody will accuse her of being overly-sentimental for it either. The Rachmaninoff Preludes on the disc are all excellently done, the Scriabin Sonata No. 4, Op. 30 is an interesting and welcome programming choice, and Liebesfreud by Kreisler is a lovely filler. I can enthusiastically recommend this and other ArtistLed recordings.
This has been quite a week for me musically. After all the Sherrill Milnes excitement last weekend, I nearly matched it last night when I attended a recital by piano superstar Murray Perahia at the Phillips Center.
I had not expected to be able to attend, but at the last minute realized I could. So, after dinner at The Top, I dropped off Mrs. Hill at home and made my way to campus, and barely had time to park and buy my ticket. But what a ticket! In the past, when Miriam regularly received complimentary tickets to classical music performances through her work, we’d find ourselves in the very front row. It was from front row-center that we watched performances by Sir James Galway, Gil Shaham, Joshua Bell, Lang Lang, Charles Dutoit, Leonard Slatkin, the Tokyo String Quartet, the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, the National Philharmonic, and so on. But all things must pass, and once Miriam left her old job the free ride was over.
Last night, however, a mix of public apathy and good luck scored me seat AA 102 (the very seat from which I once listened to Garrison Keillor make up fantastic tales about life in Minnesota). I was only six feet from a Steinway played by Murray Perahia. He began with the Partita No. 4 in D Major, BWV 828 by Bach, which he played brilliantly. The tempos were swift, but always with a pulse, and though he used a fairly wide dynamic range, he mostly eschewed the sustain pedal. Next was Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 15 in D Major, Op. 28 “Pastoral”. He made it sound easy, even the extremely technical playing of the Rondo movement. After intermission was Brahms’ gorgeous Six Piano Pieces, Op. 118, two Chopin Études, and the “Heroic” Polonaise in A Flat Major, Op. 53, all of which he played with breathtaking virtuosity. Without exaggeration, Perahia’s pianism was nothing short of astonishing - technically impeccable and stylish beyond reproach. The crowd–depressingly small–erupted into a frenzy of applause at the conclusion, and we were treated to some Schumann and Schubert as encores. I couldn’t help but smile at the incomparable bargain that was my $10 front row ticket.
Occasionally, following concerts at the Phillips Center, artists will sign autographs. At intermission, however, the absence of a table in the lobby selling CDs made it fairly clear that there would be no such meet-and-greet with Murray Perahia. But, after the concert I approached the general manager, Michael Blachly, and asked if I could thank Mr. Perahia for his wonderful performance. He asked me to wait near the door to the Black Box Theater. Shortly after, Mr. Perahia entered, still in his tuxedo. We shook hands, and before I could even ask him to sign my program, he apologized to me and a few other piano students behind me, saying that his recent surgeries make it uncomfortable for him to write. I completely understood. His graciousness was refreshing after Yefim Bronfmann’s odd refusal to autograph a concert program while willingly signing his CDs. In any case, I told Mr. Perahia how glad I was he played Bach, since I have been enjoying his English Suites and Goldberg Variations tremendously. Indeed, his Goldbergs are easily my favorite now. He told me it was very kind of me to say so, and we shook hands again. Then I was on my way home to enjoy The Office.
So, a fabulous Thursday evening.
UPDATE: The Chicago Tribune published a review of Perahia’s identical recital there, and it squares pretty well with what I heard.
At long last I hold in my hands Bruce Springsteen’s highly anticipated new album, Magic, and it’s practically a masterpiece. I had been so excited by all the buzz generated by a leaked MP3 edition of the record, though I intentionally avoided any contact with those elicit files, wanting to hear the whole thing straight through on release-day. Aside from a bit of “Radio Nowhere” played on NPR and the Today Show, I made it.
So, yesterday after work I rode my bike by the store and pulled the disc from the new release rack, priced $13.88. I raced home–mostly to beat an imminent thunderstorm–and once Mrs. Hill left for the gym I slipped it into the player and awaited rock.
I got it; Magic is loud, the signal boosted such that you must be aware of your stereo’s volume before you press play. “Radio Nowhere” was what I had heard before, a catchy, straight-up rock number. I really enjoyed the next three songs: “Livin’ in the Future” is an R&B number à la “10th Avenue Freeze Out”; and “Your Own Worst Enemy” is sung in a style more reminiscent of Bruce’s old “heroic” voice than almost anything he’s recorded in over a decade. I was less immediately impressed with “Gypsy Biker”, though after a few listens it has grown on me - ditto “Devil’s Arcade”, those two being my least favorite on the album, though both imminently listenable. “Magic” starts so atmospherically, and it has grown on me, too. “Girls In Their Summer Clothes” is lyrically the strongest on the album, and the music is great, too.
But, far-and-away my favorite song on the new album–and now must count as one of my favorite Bruce Springsteen songs ever–is “I’ll Work For Your Love”. The instant it began, with a bright piano tune, bursting into jangly pop-rock, I immediately began to smile, and didn’t stop until it ended. I love the melody, I love the words. In fact, I couldn’t like it more even it were sung by a chorus of cardinals playing harpsichords. Listen to the beginning:
Magic is a fantastic album, well worth the wait, and I easily his best album since Born in the USA, if not The River. If you aren’t automatically averse to Bruce Springsteen, I’d encourage you to buy it, and give it three listens. By the third spin, you’ll be you’ll agree with everything I have said.
This morning I pulled several sets of La Bohème off my shelf and compared and contrasted performances of what I consider to be the best tenor aria of all, “Che gelida manina”, sung by the poet Rodolfo in the first act. What I determined was that, between Roberto Alagna, Carlo Bergonzi, Placido Domingo and Luciano Pavarotti, it’s the Pav who did it best. Certainly, Bergonzi is stylish and elegant, but Pavarotti has the right combination of warmth and charm and hope. Hear the climactic high C here:
So it’s pretty clear that today is the nicest day ever, and I am inside writing a paper for school because earlier in the week, when the weather was bad, I procrastinated and did other things. Right now the temperature is in the mid-70s, and there is a cloudless sky of deep blue. The azaleas have just peaked next door, and are so bright and pink as to almost be vulgar. Indeed, color that vivid outside of nature would be seen as offensive. Elke just gave me another heap of fresh strawberries, and I am watching the squirrels through the window foraging for acorns, of which there were millions this year. I am presently listening to Bach’s Flute Sonata in E Flat Major, BWV 1031.
One last word on Pavarotti:
Dana doesn't do what Dana doesn't want to do.