The Music of the City

Last night I attended the Pittsburgh Symphony concert at Heinz Hall.

The night began with percussion and the sound of winds, and that was before I arrived at the concert hall. The wind was the panting of myself and other latecoming patrons as we ran along the crowded Pittsburgh streets, hoping to arrive before PSO concertmaster and tonight's conductor Andrés Cárdenes would raise his baton, and the percussion was the impact of fireworks against the night sky, from the Steelers pre-Super Bowl rally at Heinz Field across the river.

I hurried up to the balcony and to my row just as the first piece was beginning. The hall was almost full, and my seat, of course, was in the middle. But everyone was very cheerful about letting me in. And once I got myself seated and had caught my breath, I detached my mind and put myself into that submissive mood were thoughts and impressions rise from instinct and not from analysis.

The piece was Samuel Barber's Symphony No. 1, Op. 9. The only thing I knew about it was that it was in one movement. I didn't read the program notes. I just listened, and as I did I found that the traditional musical terms for the parts of the work rose to the surface of my mind of their own accord. "Yes . . . what a lively Scherzo! . . . or would it be a Scherzetto? . . . . Ah, here's something rather Maestoso . . . . Here's a change, there's the Andante . . . " If I'd been trying to think of this on purpose, I never could have managed.

The second item on the program was George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. It was more than appropriate that that would be played in downtown Pittsburgh last night, for it always evokes urban bustle and activity for me: bright lights and cars, people hurrying to theaters and concerts, crowded stylish restaurants full of patrons sitting down to intimate and celebratory meals. And last night downtown Pittsburgh was crammed. All the playhouses and music halls were open, it was this month's exhibit opening night for the contemporary art galleries, and then you add in all the Steeler fans come down to cheer on the team. Traffic was so thick, I had to try five different garages before I could find a place to park-- that's why I was running late. Rhapsody in Blue was the ideal musical theme.

The piano soloist was Gabriela Montero. The playing of the Pittsburgh Symphony didn't quite rise to the level of her performance, but she sets a very high standard. I hate to say it, but the upward sliding call of the opening clarinet was a little bodiless. I had to say, "That was it?" But the brass made up for it later, especially the riffs from the muted trumpet.

There was nothing in the program about more music before the intermission, but I'd say almost everyone there knew what to expect. Ms. Montero is a master of improvisation, in a tradition that goes back to the young Mozart and before. She stepped to the apron of the stage and requested a theme from the audience. One man sang out, literally, "'A mighty fortress is our God!'" in recognition of the Mendelssohn Reformation Symphony to be played in the second half. But through the hubbub Ms. Montero said no, give her something more characteristic of Pittsburgh. And from several places throughout the hall, voices began to call, "'Here we go, Steelers, here we go! Here we go, Steelers, here we go!'"

She went to the piano and plunked it out: "Daa-da-da, da! da! Daa-da-da!"

"That's it?" she queried.

"That's it!" roared back the audience.

Whereupon she sat herself down at the keyboard and took that little call and stretched it, dressed it, inverted it, reverted to it, embroidered on it, and made it an object of classical delight. Classical, yes, then she added variations Romantic, Latin, and even jazz. Whew! What must it be like to have a genius like that! If I could have any complaint to make, it's that Ms. Montero did not, as I had hoped, end her improvisation on Here We Go, Steelers! with a grand fortissimo. Surely, that would have been better luck for the game on the 1st? But I told myself not to be silly-- we were there for music, not football.

Besides, her playing that has got to be good luck for us anyway!

After the intermission, the PSO played Felix Mendelssohn's Symphony No. 5 in D Major, "Reformation." And I do not care what anyone else thought, I found it to be well-played, lively, colorful, and not just the Allegro vivace, either. That second movement certainly evoked Germany at its sunniest, and when music can make Germany seem sunny, that's saying a lot.

It's a good thing I didn't read the program notes on the Mendelssohn until I got home. The writer had the nerve to imply that the quotation of "Ein' Feste Burg" in the Finale "burdens" it with "extramusical meanings." Excuse me!? What is "extramusical" about Master Luther's hymntune? And if it causes the listener to meditate on the ideals of the Reformation or on the history of the Reformation itself, what of it? Will this writer also throw out Vivaldi's Four Seasons or Beethoven's Ninth Symphony or his Eroica because they too carry "extramusical meanings"?

Feh!

Me, I enjoyed the idea that this symphony was a suitable piece to play in this, the 500th anniversary of the birth of John Calvin, even if it celebrates primarily the Lutheran side of things. In fact, wouldn't it be wonderful if musicians could come up with musical celebrations of Calvin this year? Maybe something based on the tunes of the Geneva Psalter!

But the Barber, the Gershwin, the Mendelssohn, and the Montero variations were not all the music we enjoyed in the city last night. I noticed that the intermission went on unusually long, and when the audience reconvened the piano was still front and center on the stage. And here came Gabriela Montero, Andrés Cárdenes with his violin, cellist David Premo, and clarinetist Michael Rusinek to play the John Williams "Air and Simple Gifts" that she had played with Itzhak Perlman, Yo Yo Ma, and Anthony McGill at the inauguration this past Tuesday. Ms. Montero expressed her gratitude for being able to play it this time in "a nice warm hall"-- despite the honor and thrill of being in on the inaugural performance, it was "real torture" playing outside in those frigid temperatures.

I tried sketching the quartet, but I took too long about it and didn't get them all. Funny, but it seemed like a longer piece when I heard it the other day. Maybe because I was wondering how they would manage to finish up by high noon; and as it happened, they didn't! It went very quickly last night.

Of course there were curtain calls after that, and lo! Maestra Montero came out wearing a Terrible Towel! Not only that, but--

I can be very slow about some things. When she first appeared for her solo in the Gershwin, I'd noticed that although her publicity photo shows her as a blonde, Gabriela Montero was wearing her hair in a nice and down-to-earth shade of brown. I'd noted that over black leggings she was wearing a flowing black tunic with a flowing jacket over it, black with a wide patterned dark yellow border over the hem. But now that I saw her with the Terrible Towel, it hit me-- She's wearing Black and Gold! She's in Pixburgh and she's wearing Black and Gold! And when she swung the Towel on her final curtain call, I knew it had to be good luck for Pittsburgh for two weeks from now.

Here we go, Steelers, here we go! [clap! clap!] Here we go, Steelers, here we go! [clap! clap!] Here we go, Steelers--!

(Oh, shut up!)

Amateur Hour

The Pittsburgh Symphony tried something a little different this year. As usual, the orchestra and the Pittsburgh Mendelssohn Choir and guest soloists put on performances of Handel's Messiah. But this year, they decided to make tonight's concert into an audience sing-along. A very limited sing-along, restricted to four or five picked choruses, but a sing-along nonetheless.

A good description of it would be "amateur hour."
Not just amateur singers, but amateur concert-goers.

The place was packed, and I think a lot of people were there because it was Christmastime and it was The Messiah. Here and there before the concert people were openly (not clandestinely, like some people I could mention!) taking pictures inside the hall. Obviously they'd never had an usher put the fear of the management into them! An absurd number of ticketholders came in late-- far more than usual-- and the ushers let them in, while the music was going; what could they do?

In the row below me sat three young girls, maybe fourth or fifth graders. They were dressed in their holiday best, their long hair pulled up in tufted knots. But unlike the children on opening night, they made no attempt to pay attention to or follow the music. By the end of the first aria they were pillowing their heads on each other's shoulders, and by the conclusion of the second chorus they had burrowed their faces into their coats and were dead to the world.

Until the second half, that is, when something in the music roused the young lady in the seat just below mine and she started beating time by slapping her program on the back of the seat in front of her. Bored of that, she then commenced tapping her little patent-leather-shod foot on the concrete floor. Her father (presumably), the group's only chaperon, said and did nothing.

For that matter, neither did I. It didn't quite cross the line into disruptive. It was just-- amateur.

But you could say I got them back. Not on purpose, and much to my regret. I was not in good voice tonight. I'd had a busy, tiring day and this bronchial crud is making a resurgence. What's more, they didn't have scores available for borrowing; they only printed the words to the choruses for audience participation in the program. Me, I'd brought my score. The two women to the right of me had brought their scores. Other people scattered here and there through the auditorium had brought their scores. But seemingly, none of the people who'd brought their scores sang bass, tenor, or alto. That, or all the amateur basses, tenors, and altos wimped out. That left the job to us sopranos, tired or not, bronchial-crud-ravaged or not.

Hey, I was hitting the high gs and even the as just fine-- long as I could sing them forte. But bring it down to an mf or a p-- pathetic. No breath support whatsoever. Wobble, wobble, bobble!
I'm thinking, let's try this again in a smaller venue where the audience is the chorus. I haven't heard of any churches in the Pittsburgh area that do an audience-participation Messiah, but it'd be fun to find out.

Kraftig!

Tonight was the Saturday season opener for the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra, and I was there in my seat at Heinz Hall.

Not my seat from last year: I moved up a few rows to save myself a few bucks. Some might say I have no business renewing my subscription, but at around $10 apiece for seven concerts, with an additional complimentary ticket and a $30 gas card thrown in, it'd be mendacious scrupulosity to say no.

It looked like a lot of other people were attracted in as well: the hall, orchestra and balcony, was practically filled. And by people of all ages, too. Including a lot of kids, a lot of college students, and even an infant or two-- out of whom I heard not one peep all evening.

The first piece was Short Ride in a Fast Machine by John Adams, the PSO's composer of the year. This was the third time I'd heard it in the past week or two, most recently last night on a live radio broadcast of the orchestra's season opener. I have to say I liked it better in person.

Then we had Joshua Bell playing the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto. Whoot! I've seen and heard Mr. Bell in concert several times, beginning back in the mid-'80s when he was still a teenager, and it's always a rewarding experience. To quote the ordination vows of the Presbyterian Church (USA), he played that concerto with "energy, intelligence, imagination, and love."

He was brought out for three or four curtain calls. The last time, he left his violin backstage, as if to say, "No encores tonight, sorry!" Well, we could hope, couldn't we?

Well, after throwing himself so thoroughly into that music, I suppose he was rather drained. And he was still on to sign autographs during intermission. I didn't stand in line for that; rather I took up a position on the first balcony overlooking the Great Hall and watched the queue. I get a kick out of seeing Josh Bell sign autographs, especially for kids. It's apparent to me that he remembers what it was like as a child violinist, practicing and practicing, and he likes to encourage the young ones to keep it up.

When we took our seats for the second half, a PSO official stepped to the front of the stage and said, “You will notice there are more microphones than usual on the stage tonight. That’s because we’re trying to make a live recording of the Mahler Titan Symphony with our new conductor, Manfred Honeck. The Mahler has some very, very quiet passages in it, particularly in the first movement. It also has some very loud ones. So if you must cough, please control yourself and don’t do it during the quiet parts! Wait till the music gets loud, and then you may cough—discreetly.”

He bowed himself off and the music began, quietly. One bar, two bars, three bars, then, from one quarter of the hall, “Koff!” A bar or two more, then, “Koff!!” A bit more quiet music, then, “Koff! Koff!”

Oh, hell! Can’t we control ourselves for even that short a time?

And then, three seats down in my own row, a young woman was veritably possessed by the Coughing Demon: “Koff! koff! koff! Koff!! koff!! koff! koff! koff! koff!!!”

As one who’s struggled with recurrent bronchitis since the age of nine I know what it’s like to be seized by a terrible urge to hack out one’s lungs in public. But clearly, this young woman had never developed the moral and physical stricture that I call “Die First!” To be exercised only on such occasions as tonight’s, this rule says it doesn’t matter how great the drive is to let it out, I Will Keep That Cough In or Die In The Attempt.

The only time I remember failing at it was in seminary, during a Good Friday chapel service when I was supposed to be singing in the choir. The coughing incubus settled on me, I couldn’t master it, and I excused myself to the ladies’ room in the chapel basement—where I proceeded to cough up my immortal soul. My fellow choir members later told me they could hear me all the way upstairs.

My neighbor at Heinz Hall didn’t produce so stupendous a sound, but it was bad enough. And as is the way with the Coughing Demon, it didn’t drive her to it during the fortissimos, hell, no, only during the long pia-pia-pianissimi.

I wish I could have slipped her a cough drop, but the only one I had was sharing its wrapper with a spent piece of chewing gum offered me by a fellow presbyter at the very end of break at last Tuesday's presbytery meeting. Like an idiot I didn't get rid of it before we reconvened, and there I was in the Communion service with no place to put it but the tail of a cough drop paper!

The beleaguered cougher fled after the first movement and didn’t reappear. I felt sorry for her, but I hope the orchestra is trying for this recording during all three of this weekend’s performances.

I’ve only heard the Mahler 1st Symphony as it’s poured over me via classical radio, so I don’t know it that intimately. But from tonight’s performance I’d say Maestro Honeck and the Pittsburgh played it strongly and very well. It’ll be a long time before I get its lines and melodies out of my head.

Thoughts on a Concert

This isn't a music review.

I went to the grand finale Pittsburgh Symphony concert down at Heinz Hall last night.

It was originally slated to be the Brahms Ein Deutsches Requiem. But as I hear it, conductor Sir Andrew Davis left the orchestra a few months ago (not under the happiest of terms, I understand) and the conductor they scheduled in for this weekend, Yan Pascal Tortelier, didn't feel like doing it. Or something. At any rate, he preferred something French, so instead we had Fauré's Requiem and the Saint-Saens' Organ Symphony.

Fine with me; I've sung and know both the Brahms and the Fauré more than once, and the Organ Symphony and I are acquaintances from my college days, if not best musical buddies. And given it was the PSO and the Pittsburgh Mendelssohn Choir, I was sure they'd do well with either Requiem setting.

So there I was, up in my balcony seat, and first thing I notice through my opera glasses is that someone, the chorus mistress or the conductor, whoever, had decided to seat the choir fruit-basket style.

That's where you don't sit in sections, you're all mixed in together, a soprano next to a bass next to an alto next to a tenor next to a bass next to a-- you get it. I'm thinking whoever it was wanted to get more of an overall blend, versus the sound coming obviously one this section or that.

If that was the idea, it worked. Not to say they wouldn't've blended nicely if they'd been arranged the usual way. But the PMC is good enough that each chorister can maintain his or her part without needing to be propped up by others of the same voice.

I know one of the tenors; I'll have to ask him what he thought of the arrangements.

I suffered somewhat of a handicap listening to the Fauré. Because I've sung it before, I was anticipating entrances and lines and so on. I was remembering past performances. I was thinking of non-musical associations with the piece. So I wasn't as emotionally involved in last night's performance as I might have been.

At the same time, because my row was very crowded, I couldn't let myself go as if I were participating in this performance.

What? Are you accusing me of ever, ever singing under my breath in the audience at choral concerts? Me? Never!

Well, maybe . . . A little . . . during the crescendos . . . But with the row so crowded last night, I really couldn't . . . much . . . .

The soloists, soprano Nicole Cabell and baritone Lucas Meachem, were both very good. They both had great tone quality and good for them, they both sang from memory, without scores. Though Miss Cabell, unfortunately, in her Pie Jesu solo scooped a couple of times from the "pie" to the "Jesu." And things got a little out of hand at the end of the Libera Me, when Maître Tortelier was leading soloist and choir in a very staccato, accented ">li >ber >a >me" and Mr. Meachem, who was standing, of course, with his back to the conductor, got ahead of things.

But I'm not complaining. Mr. Meachem is a very tall and impressive person and is as worth looking at as listening to. He was wearing a three-piece suit, and a silly objecting voice inside me was saying, "That's sooo out of style! That's straight out of the '80s!" But my majority verdict was, "I don't care. He looks damn good in it. In fact, most guys in the 1980s looked damn good in theirs, too. Bring back the three-piece suit!!"

Miss Cabell was graceful, shapely, and trim in a raspberry-colored ruffled strapless gown. But I did wish she had thought to put up her long wavy hair! Up in the balcony, all we could see was hair and nose!

But maybe it was the fault of the lighting engineer. No one looks her best lit from the top.

The Saint-Saens Organ Symphony, after the intermission, was for me a trip into the past. I remember playing that album when I was working the front desk late nights at my college residence hall. And somehow, the music got me thinking of vague dreams and half-formed plans of twenty and more years ago . . .

Sometime in the '80s I got an idea for a house I wanted to build for myself. It's basically an energy-efficient Arts and Crafts style four-square.

The program was based on my becoming a successful architect with a large studio and office in her home . . . and on my marrying a musician. This unidentified, imaginary bridegroom was to be a professor of music at the local conservatory, and he'd regularly bring his colleagues and students over to play chamber music in our front room. Therefore, it had to be designed to accommodate them. With enough room for at least a baby grand.

Unfortunately, the only music major I knew well was the kind of guy I had to build a fire under just to keep a conversation going. Too much work.

Oh, yeah, there was also a violist I dated for awhile. He had the affrontery to say the Beethoven Violin Concerto was no good because it didn't give the violists that much to do. So much for him.

I've taken a stab a time or two over the years at drawing up my dream house, and maybe, even now, I'll see about getting the drawings done. Call it "Residence for a Music Lover" or something like that. Architects used to do that sort of demonstration project all the time.

But back to last night's music. The Organ Symphony was well-played, in general. 99% of the audience, I'd say, rose to give the PSO a standing ovation. The 1% included me . . . years ago, after being exposed to some truly magnificent chamber music artists, I decided I would not give cheap, peer-pressure standing ovations. If I stand up to applaud, it's because the performance was so great I'm compulsively launched out of my seat. And tonight, I thought Maître Tortelier had the orchestra playing so loudly in the finale that the sound got muddied up. I'm sure it could be done better, and when it is, I shall stand.

Music

Now that my dog is fully recovered from his misguided gourmandizing, I can say something about the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra concert I attended the night of the 12th.

I had the ticket as part of a seven-concert season series, the night's theme was "Sublime Melodies," and I couldn't remember who was to be featured or what was to be played. Would there be a vocal soloist performing some Lieder? That'd be nice, but who knew?

I decided not to go online to refresh my memory. I'd just drive downtown and see what the evening would bring.

I was late getting out the door (my poor doggie!), and with traffic and parking, I barely had time to get into my seat before the concert hall lights dimmed, guest conductor Juraj Valcuha took the podium, and the music began.

I thought I heard my neighbor in the row above say something to his wife about "Mendelssohn" and "Oberon," but the first piece definitely wasn't the Incidental Music to a Midsummer Night's Dream. Though it was light, glancing, mischievous, flying and flighty-- Oh! It must be Carl Maria von Weber's overture to Oberon!

And so it was.

I steadfastly refused to look at my program even for the next piece. I was just going to let the music come at me, untrammelled by the annotator's comments.

Then out onto the stage strode a solo violinist. I had to look at the program to see who he was.

Oh! It was Gil Shaham! I've heard of his fame, but I'd never seen him play before. If I had, I assuredly would have remembered.

Most solo violinists stand forward, towards the front of the stage, with the conductor and concertmaster actually at their backs. It's like they're saying, "I'm playing this piece the way I play it, and the rest of you can just follow me."

A lot of times it works. But Mr. Shaham wasn't having any part of that. He took up his position well upstage, even with the PSO violinist in the third chair back. Sometimes he seemed to wade into the orchestra farther still. He kept eye contact with conductor Valcuha, and when he didn't, he was interacting with and acknowledging the playing of the Pittsburgh orchestra rank and file.

His stance was striking. He plays with his whole body, flexing deeply at the knees, cradling the violin (a 1699 Stradivarius, by the way), stretching upwards, bending over, bowing his head-- he seemed totally possessed by the music and by the communal experience of playing it with his fellow musicians. He made love to the conductor, to his fiddle, to the music, and to the ladies of the PSO violins. It seemed totally in keeping with the spirit of the piece.

What was the piece? It was Mendelssohn's E minor Violin Concerto. Played very, very well. Jump to the feet in applause very well. Mr. Shaham and Maestro Valcuha were recalled time after time. And we were favored with a substantial solo encore. I wasn't familiar with it, but I'm pretty sure it was Bach. Some sort of variations? I didn't ask, but wish I had.

After the intermission, Dvorak's The Water Goblin and Richard Strauss' suite from Der Rosenkavalier. My mind was wandering a bit by now; I thought of my childhood when I'd hear snippets from the Baron Ochs Waltz on radio advertisements for the Longines Symphonette, whatever that was. At the time I thought it was the loveliest, most graceful piece of music imaginable. How surprised I was as an adult to learn that it was the leitmotif for a superannuated, blumbling clod leching after a girl young enough to be his daughter!

The things you learn.

And I guess I shouldn't throw rocks at Ochs. Maestro Valcuha is young, trim, and (I couldn't help noticing), very, very cute. And me, I'm old enough to be his--

Aunt. A very youthful aunt!

Open House

This evening the Pittsburgh Symphony held their annual open house for new season ticket holders.

I'm not technically a new season ticket holder; I purchased a series back in '04-'05, and I went to that open house, too.

The January 2005 event was a behind-the-scenes tour-- views of the flyloft, the practice rooms, the musicians' lounges, the guest artists' dressing rooms, and so on.

Tonight they must have run out of time for the backstage tour--it was more an introduction (via Marketing Director speech and video) of the 2008-2009 season and of new PSO conductor, Manfred Honeck. It amused me that the video featured a quotation from some local civic leader saying that not only is Maestro Honeck a great conductor who'll do wonderful things with an already world-class orchestra, but that he's also "a great family man and a great role model." I've never considered orchestra conductors as role models for the general population . . . but if his qualifications are based on his being a family man, he's got that one-- to the tune of six children.

Wonder if they'll spend any time in Pixburgh, or if they're too tied up with school and activities in Vienna? Though they may be grown by now!

This season's open house featured more music than the 2005, I believe-- pieces and movements by Bach, Brahms, and Schubert.

Members of the PSO here play us the Bach Double Concerto, BWV 1043. I regret not being able to get a view of the pianist as well:


Here are some scenes from the tour and the presentation:

The Grand Lobby

The Grand Lobby, looking towards 6th Street

The Grand Tier, with a view of the stage

We hear about the coming season

The string players take a bow

(Ouch. Sorry.)

Questions and answers: Happy memories of outplaying the Viennese in the Wiener Musikverein-- at their own music!

Enough music and talk-- let's head for the refreshments!

An inadvertent moment of humor: Our docent was describing what's known as the "Heinz Box," Grand Tier, stage right. Said he, "Members of the Heinz family get first claim to that box whenever they're in town. For instance, Teresa and John Heinz sit there when they come to concerts. They have a house in Fox Chapel."

"Teresa and John Heinz"? Poor Senator Kerry! Still in his wife's late husband's shadow!

Messiah

Despite wind, weather, and sloppy roads I made it into town this evening for the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra-Mendelssohn Choir of Pittsburgh performance of Handel's Messiah.

Theology

I've been acquainted with Messiah as a work since I was in high school or before. I've sung it in performance once or twice, and innumerable times in Messiah sing-alongs. And it always seemed to me that there was this great gray gap between "His yoke is easy" at the end of Part I and "Worthy is the Lamb" at the end, broken only by the Hallelujah Chorus and maybe the "Rod of Iron" and "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth" arias.

But life and experience alter many things, and tonight it was those parts I used to blur over that made the most impression on me. "He was despised." "Thy rebuke hath broken his heart." All those parts that tell how Jesus the Christ was rejected and rebelled against by the people He came to save. That's how it is. No redemption without suffering, no crown without the cross. Angels announcing "Glory to God!" to shepherds and a Child born unto us are all very well-- but that good news means nothing without what followed thirty-three years later.

There were some college-aged people in my row who left at the intermission, before those parts were sung. Maybe they thought as I used to. Maybe they were too young to understand.

But I hope not.

History

I've read that it was King George III who leapt to his feet at the first performance of the Hallelujah chorus, so impressed was he. And all his subjects present followed suit, and so have audiences thereafter.

Yes, that George III.

You'd think it would be considered unpatriotic for us Americans to assume and keep up the custom. But I'm glad it isn't. Farmer George, despite his political myopia concerning certain trans-Atlantic colonies, wasn't wrong (or mad) all the time. And this is one time he was very right and sane indeed.

And tonight in Pittsburgh, we stood.

Performance

I would say the PSO chamber musicians and the Mendelssohn Choir did very well.

Considering.

Considering that conductor Julian Wachter chose to take the tempi so fast, he resembled a Presbyterian preacher with a half-hour's worth of sermon whose elders have told him he'd better not go over fifteen minutes--or else. Very marcato, very clipped, scarcely a largo or a tenuto the whole evening.

Maybe I exaggerate. But not by much. The later it got, the more prestissimosimosimo he went. In the middle of the "Blessing and honor, glory and power" chorus, I heard a man in the row above me whisper to his wife, "He's taking it too fast." I glanced around. His wife was waggling her fingertips together in a rapid motion, like the beaks of ravenous birds. It summed up the conductor's technique very aptly.

You can get certain musical effects with that approach. Maybe you could argue they would be authentic Baroque effects. But go too far, and you no longer have music-- only effects.

The soloists? I liked the bass-baritone the best. The mezzo seemed to have trouble with her phrasing-- she never seemed to hold a line. I don't know if she was fighting a cold, or doing it on purpose.

All the soloists had good tone and intonation. But none of them really filled the hall. Maybe it was the acoustics.

Maybe I wish I could afford to sit closer and find out!