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I haven’t done any simple link propagation in a while, but I spotted The Shape of Song in a comment on Slashdot, and felt it well worthy of breaking the rule. This guy draws translucent arches connecting identical (similar?) passages in music; it seems to be done using analysis on MIDI files using Java. The pictures that result are very cool. This is quite timely for me, since I have just been getting back into practicing piano, and struggling through the intricacies of Bach and Chopin – as to be expected, both of these composers make for very intricate, yet structured, pictures.

To keep the personal aspect of this blog intact: I finally biked home today – survived!

Courtesy of Brian (who officially started work with us last week after some ridiculous limbo involving a hiring freeze), Saturday was a more interesting night than usual.

Vladimir Feltsman played Rachmaninoff’s Third piano concerto with the symphony. Sadly, I didn’t like his performance. Feltsman is one of those narcissitic players who doesn’t seem to highly value the ensemble between soloist and orchestra. Certainly there was no need for the frivolous tempo changes that were highly distracting – especially the needless rushing of the ends of the fast passages which pretty much guaranteed the orchestra would be off when the big chords came along. Furthermore he just didn’t seem to have a sense of line. To me, Rachmaninoff is all about the huge, sweeping, melodic lines that go on for pages and pages over highly dense accompanying textures. And so cutting those lines into little pieces that are delimited by inexplicable tempo shifts is just unforgivable.

I guess it doesn’t help that I think of Rach 3 as a somewhat overrated warhorse. Like all Rachmaninoff, there are some good passages just dripping in schmaltz, if you like that sort of thing. But overall, especially in the third movement, it can get to be interminable.

It’s worth noting that I seemed to hold the minority view about Feltsman; the rest of the audience gave him a standing ovation. So I guess if you can play the piece, then that’s worthy of praise right there; e.g. David Helfgott. (Yes, I’m not impressed by him either. But then, I can’t play the piece – I only managed Rach 4′s first movement.)

Afterwards Brian introduced me to Le Pichet, a neat French cafe close to Pike Place market. There we met up with David, the lead trumpet player of the symphony, and over unbelievably good charcuterie, cheese, and far too much Côte du Rhône, we slagged Feltsman, reminisced about New York (them, not me), dismissed atonality, gossiped about the orchestra, and otherwise discussed housing and good eats (Brian, being a Salumi refugee, is well versed on such matters).

On a random note, I just realised that I now live extremely close to my clone. I am somewhat weirded out by this.

Contrary to prior statements, I actually sat through an entire piano recital at Benaroya today and kept mostly rapt attention. Probably because Arcadi Volodos was that good – and he couldn’t have put together a better program as far as my tastes are concerned. (Well, okay, since I’m me, I have to nitpick. He doesn’t seem well suited for Schubert.)

Noticed A Comprehensive Guide to Asian Stereotypes. Damn, I’m quite Chinese. Ah so.

I paid the latest credit card bill for one card twice, and for the other card, three times. Some weird mental blip related to online bill payment. Yeah, it’s been that kind of month. And absolutely no progress on the lending front yet. I started this process over a month ago with Wells Fargo, and since then it’s been slow, intermittent requests for more documentation – paycheck stub, another year’s W2 form, landlord information, utility bills. I wish they’d just tell me up front if I’ve been denied or not rather than drag it out interminably.

At least Don Pasquale on Friday was really, really good. Despite my initial sneering disavowal of the entire idea of opera buffa (which had no basis in reason, since I’m hardly familiar with the genre), I found myself enjoying all of the inanity and Donizetti’s music. It helped that a lot of self-parody was involved – from composer and librettist (with a couple of obvious digs at the typical Rossini heroines) to the projected captions (microscopic fonts were used during the patter duet between Don Pasquale and Malatesta, “La la la” was projected during another scene). The only blemish was the orchestra, which didn’t seem quite up to playing the fast bits or handling the tempo shifts – as usual, the fault appeared to lie with the brass section. Which was a great pity for the excellent singers.

The entire opera “experiment” is kind of weird. I’ve been blessed with an excellent classical music education, which gives me snobbing rights (however when I go to an extreme on this front, I only have to think about my Dad’s total snobbishness to bring myself back to a cold shuddering reality). But here’s the stunning admission: for the most part, I don’t actually enjoy live concerts of that genre. I have difficulty staying awake at symphony recitals. I nitpick during piano recitals, no matter who’s playing. God forbid that you forget an entire passage if I’m sitting in the audience, fellow student or not.

Partly this is a matter of technology. Living in the CD age, I’ve been spoiled by studio recordings which feature note perfect readings, and I’ve noticed that I get way too hung up that, as opposed to the emotion or expressiveness of a performance. One of my favourite pianists is Glenn Gould. It’s not a coincidence that Gould was a notorious studio artist who would not hesitate to use all electronic tools at his disposal to splice together bits and pieces from disparate recordings to produce the perfect album (in his defense, Gould was also an excellent live performer judging by the videotapes I’ve seen). Another well-liked pianist is Ashkenazy, who is a technically proficient, note dead-on pianist. I own nearly all his piano concerto recordings and consider them sacred. And yet I’ve seen reviews from his detractors, and words and phrases like “understated”, “knows only two dynamic levels” seem to figure prominently. On the other extreme is Sviatoslav Richter. I own a box set of his recordings (courtesy of Dad) and Lorraine was very enthusiastic about the expressive character of his playing. I on the other hand didn’t like his recordings that much, and I think it was because I’d notice Richter missing a note here and there, enough to disturb me from noticing the fine nuances of his playing.

This rambling is sort of leading up to the point that I can’t quite figure out why I’m enjoying the opera so much, even despite the performance blemishes that annoy me more than they should (although there was absolutely no excuse for the fuckwit in the audience whose cellphone rang six times during the overture). Perhaps the simple answer is that the spectacle element is what’s missing from watching the symphony, and I need that in order to listen effectively (read: stay awake). I generally enjoy chamber music recitals though, so that’s not quite it either; then again I’ve heard that chamber music puts off a lot of people who enjoy symphony going. Whatever. Seattle Opera sent the season renewal forms last week and I filled them out immediately. Wagner starts the season next year. I can’t wait.

My ears are still ringing today, after going to an Arch Enemy concert last night. The ringing is nothing new, it’s the same very high B flat that lasts for a couple of days every time I expose my unprotected ears to loud Scandinavian heavy metal. It also probably means that something inside my skull has a resonant frequency of around 930 Hz or so. Which is not a terribly reassuring thought. (Will my head explode if I listen to Beethoven’s second piano concerto? Wait, I did play that one.)

The venue was terrible, but the band was pretty good, although I usually like my vocals a little more intelligible, especially if it’s a female singer. (Where did she ever learn to growl like that?)

I’ll write more about what I spent the last month doing when I’m a little less moody, and when this damned tinnitus wears off.

On Friday evening, I saw Seattle Opera’s production of Eugene Onegin. It was very good in spite of the more inane operatic plots imaginable: boy meets girl, girl falls in love with boy, boy rejects girl, boy shoots other boy (not over the original girl, I might add), time passes, boy falls in love with girl, girl rejects boy because she’s now married; fini. Cohesive plot isn’t why one attends opera though; I’ll start by saying the orchestra was excellent, fully up to the task of playing Tchaikovsky in full style (with his usual tendency to veer towards sentimental musack). The spectacle elements (dance, sets, costumes, artificial snowflakes) were great as well.

The two leads (sung by Karen Driscoll and Peter Edelmann, in the title role) were good, but I felt were occasionally upstaged by other singers, due to weaker voices and less stage presence. (Then again, Onegin in particular is written as a uptight git, so standing around stiffly may have been acceptable; I kept thinking I was watching a singing version of Darcy.) As it turns out, according to the Seattle Times, Edelmann was probably on his way towards a cold so that might explain his voice. I will also admit to being unduly prejudiced, since I was watching the alternate cast – or the B-Team as I like to think of them. The principals of the A-Team are the ones with their pictures proudly displayed throughout the program, along with prominent mentions of corporate sponsorship, while their glowing biographies attest to their performances at La Scala, the Met, and opera houses worldwide. Meanwhile the principals of the B-Team have to make do with no pictures other than those next to their biographies, which less far less impressive credentials. (No offense to Ms. Driscoll, who generally sounded very good, but Opera Saskatchewan doesn’t seem like something to be proud of.)

At the time I purchased the season tickets I didn’t know about alternate casts, although in retrospect I guess I shouldn’t have been puzzled as to why performances on Friday nights were somewhat cheaper than other nights. (“Hey, they must be trying to attract the Friday night crowd who’d rather be somewhere else. Yeah, that’s it.”) In any event I’ll stop pretending like I have the sort of ears to really judge operatic singing; this was only my second live opera performance ever (I saw Tosca* over a decade ago), and B-Team or not, the only thing that really matters is that I enjoyed it immensely.

Strange flashback: I recognized the opening music to the third act (the Polonaise) as one of those supposed orchestral showpieces that we at the Delta Youth Orchestra mangled, mutilated, stomped and beat into the ground beyond recognition. But I think I’ll rag on the DYO some other day, if only out of respect for Wallace.

* Yes, that Vancouver Opera production, the one with the Tosca played by someone with a morbid fear of heights; ironic, since the role requires flinging oneself off a tower at the very end. This led to an odd stage arrangement and even less convincing choreography in the last scene. At least she didn’t bounce..

November is the dreariest month. The first time I go home from work, in total darkness, after daylight saving time kicks in, is when I realise the coldest, darkest, and most bloody depressing months of the year have arrived. The rain that has been splattering Northern California over the last week doesn’t help much either.

With music being the key to keeping me sane when stuck indoors, recent CD acquisitions have yielded two more moments of musical epiphany. What are these? A couple of measures, a few seconds of music, maybe just a chord, something which just feels like the sun coming out from behind the clouds – exactly what I need on dark, damp autumn days. Today I was trying to come up with a partial list of such moments, presented forthwith:

• Shoot To Thrill, AC/DC, from the Back in Black album, at the 3:25 mark: about twenty seconds of spartan, pure harmony on a guitar (I think it’s Malcolm playing there) – just a brilliant sequence of D major V – IV – I progressions and nothing else;
• Piano Concerto No. 4, Rachmaninoff, bar 281 to the end of the 1st movement: big sweeping arpeggios in the piano, classic Rachmaninoff schmaltz in the rest of the orchestra. When I heard this the first time, I knew I had to play this piece;
• Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!), off Garbage’s latest album beautifulgarbage, between the 1:39 to 1:56 marks: I suppose I’m a sucker for church bells going off in the background;
• Devil & the Deep Dark Ocean, Nightwish, from the album Oceanborn, at the 3:48 mark: a moment of operatic, major-key, vocal harmony after nearly four minutes of dark, minor-key, Finnish-accented growling over heavy metal and thrash guitar. Yup, cool band.

The musical is nearly finished – I’ll be glad when it is, since it’s been a wearing experience; I’ve think I’ve been coming across as antisocial to the actors (who are, for the most part, very uninhibited – Jenny the pianist made a relevant comment: “they’re all so fucking touchy-feely”) and things are a little tense for me around them. No such problems with the other musicians though.

There were some reviews of Brain in the local media, and they were mixed: SF Chronicle, SF Examiner, Oakland Tribune, and the Berkeley Daily Planet. These probably haven’t helped with the audience size, which I would guess has hovered around 30-40 per show. However I’d have to say that I generally agree with the criticisms brought up in the Chronicle and Examiner reviews.

Mom and Da Yi Ma (“Big Aunt”, her older sister) dropped in on Tuesday morning, her friends the Hsus from Newfoundland dropped in that evening (they were here for a school reunion), they all crashed overnight in the living room, and then they were gone by Wednesday morning with a rented car on their way to Las Vegas. At least my relatives know how to have fun.

Went to Taekwondo practice for the first time in over a month on Tuesday. Legs felt like rubber bands afterwards. Yeah!

Dammit – it’s official. A New Brain just won’t die – it’s been picked up as a replacement by another theatre group and I’ve been asked to play. I’d punt except they’re actually offering to pay this time..

Opening weekend is over. Friday’s performance was a shambles on my part; I got cocky and decided that I didn’t need to count rests, big mistake. Saturday and today went very well though, with today being attended by something like a grand total of 10 people; Friday’s and Saturday’s attendance were nearly full – 75 or so in the audience. Very enthusiastically received, though no obvious appreciation for the “orchestra”: at the end, the singers come out for their bows, the audience claps, and we play music. The singers leave, the audience stops clapping eventually, we keep playing. We stop. The audience doesn’t clap. What a bunch of yokels.