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I had the good fortune of taking in the Toronto Symphony Orchestra perform Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring last night at Roy Thompson Hall.  The young Russian, Vasily Petrenko, was guest conducting.  Anyone who’s heard his 2010 recordings of the eighth and tenth Shostakovich symphonies with the Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra (on Naxos) will know why that fact is worth mentioning.  Petrenko is a supreme talent: passionate and full of insight – and possibly only a third of the average age of what was a largely brontosaurial crowd.  It’s a great thing to hear the conducting.  And visually, it was as though he were dancing the Rite while maestroing.

The night began with Elgar’s “In the South (Alassio),” (for me) a relatively unexciting but enjoyable concert overture.  Anyone unfamiliar with the work should take in its gorgeous serenade section, which features a noteworthy viola solo over hushed strings. The Elgar was followed by Andre Laplante performing Liszt’s first piano concerto.  Laplante was in dazzling form, having more than mastered that beast of a work.  I laughed to myself while watching his hands run over the piano keys, while a young woman (and, I assume, aspiring pianist) sitting behind me sighed, “I’m so bad.”  Liszt’s first concerto, with its imposing and unforgettable opening theme, has always struck me as an awkward piece, an untamed dance of piano and orchestra.  As for last night’s performance, I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard the lighter moments of the work played with such poetry.  If only Laplante had let his white hair down: You’d have thought that Liszt himself had come back from the dead.  (A matter of intermission marginalia: It was amusing to watch a handful of begeezered aristocrats fawn over former Governor General, Adrienne Clarkson, and her husband, the thinker.)

The real untamed dance came with Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring.  The TSO was on fire; under Petrenko’s baton, they played like the TSOul.

Most of you will be familiar with the story that Rite of Spring caused a real stir (read: riot!) when first performed in 1913 Paris.  In a well-known essay, “A Myth of the Twentieth Century: The Rite of Spring, the Tradition of the New, and ‘The Music Itself,'” Richard Taruskin has suggested that Stravinsky himself was responsible for sparking the myth that his music was the root cause of the rioting.  Stravinsky the spin doctor.

“Spinning” is a good image in this context, for the Rite of Spring is dizzyingly restless in its sweep.  And while there’s really no replacement for hearing the work performed live – audio recordings and Youtube clips feel like mere shadows of the dance – you can take part in “The Sacrificial Dance” here. I was left feeling like the great Led Zeppelin song: Trampled Under Foot.  ‘Physical Graffiti’ may be still another way of describing the Rite: The music really leaves its mark.  Chock-full of rhythmic invention, it’s a work of serious play, and may be as close to rock and roll as classical will get.  To talk of its poly-rhythmic dimension is but a musicological way of saying that it has the hippy hippy shake.  “Stravinsky” very well may be Russian for “ass-kicking genius.”

OMGaga! - my coinage

I’m left wondering what music one would have to play to cause a riot in our day.  The Rite of Spring is certainly something of a spectacle, but I’m simply not convinced that people care enough about music (nor should they) to riot in the streets.  (The generally nonviolent reaction to Nickelback, the apotheosis of awful, is a case and point.***)  But I think of present-day spectacles: On the last occasion I unintentionally saw Lady Gaga perform on television, I also – perchance – saw her labia.  And there’s something odd in saying that about someone you’ve actually never seen naked.  Alas, with my train of thought thus derailed, I guess the feeling of spring must be in the air.

The Rite of Spring: OMGaga.

____

*** My lovely girlfriend reminds me that the reaction has not always been nonviolent.

I had the good fortune of taking in the Toronto Symphony Orchestra perform Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring last night at Roy Thompson Hall.  The young Russian, Vasily Petrenko, was guest conducting.  Anyone who’s heard his 2010 recordings of the eighth and tenth Shostakovich symphonies with the Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra (on Naxos) will know why that fact is worth mentioning.  Petrenko is a supreme talent: passionate and full of insight – and possibly only a third of the average age of what was a largely brontosaurial crowd.  It’s a great thing to hear the conducting.  And visually, it was as though he were dancing the Rite while maestroing.

The night began with Elgar’s “In the South (Alassio),” (for me) a relatively unexciting but enjoyable concert overture.  Anyone unfamiliar with the work should take in its gorgeous serenade section, which features a noteworthy viola solo over hushed strings. The Elgar was followed by Andre Laplante performing Liszt’s first piano concerto.  Laplante was in dazzling form, having more than mastered that beast of a work.  I laughed to myself while watching his hands run over the piano keys, while a young woman (and, I assume, aspiring pianist) sitting behind me sighed, “I’m so bad.”  Liszt’s first concerto, with its imposing and unforgettable opening theme, has always struck me as an awkward piece, an untamed dance of piano and orchestra.  As for last night’s performance, I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard the lighter moments of the work played with such poetry.  If only Laplante had let his white hair down: You’d have thought that Liszt himself had come back from the dead.  (A matter of intermission marginalia: It was amusing to watch a handful of begeezered aristocrats fawn over former Governor General, Adrienne Clarkson, and her husband, the thinker.)

The real untamed dance came with Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring.  The TSO was on fire; under Petrenko’s baton, they played like the TSOul.

Most of you will be familiar with the story that Rite of Spring caused a real stir (read: riot!) when first performed in 1913 Paris.  In a well-known essay, “A Myth of the Twentieth Century: The Rite of Spring, the Tradition of the New, and ‘The Music Itself,'” Richard Taruskin has suggested that Stravinsky himself was responsible for sparking the myth that his music was the root cause of the rioting.  Stravinsky the spin doctor.

“Spinning” is a good image in this context, for the Rite of Spring is dizzyingly restless in its sweep.  And while there’s really no replacement for hearing the work performed live – audio recordings and Youtube clips feel like mere shadows of the dance – you can take part in “The Sacrificial Dance” here. I was left feeling like the great Led Zeppelin song: Trampled Under Foot.  ‘Physical Graffiti’ may be still another way of describing the Rite: The music really leaves its mark.  Chock-full of rhythmic invention, it’s a work of serious play, and may be as close to rock and roll as classical will get.  To talk of its poly-rhythmic dimension is but a musicological way of saying that it has the hippy hippy shake.  “Stravinsky” very well may be Russian for “ass-kicking genius.”

"OMGaga" - my coinage.

I’m left wondering what music one would have to play to cause a riot in our day.  The Rite of Spring is certainly something of a spectacle, but I’m simply not convinced that people care enough about music (nor should they) to riot in the streets.  (The generally nonviolent reaction to Nickelback, the apotheosis of awful, is a case and point.***)  But I think of present-day spectacles: On the last occasion I unintentionally saw Lady Gaga perform on television, I also – perchance – saw her labia.  And there’s something odd in saying that about someone you’ve actually never seen naked.  Alas, with my train of thought thus derailed, I guess the feeling of spring must in the air.    The Rite of Spring: OMGaga.

____

*** My lovely girlfriend reminds me that the reaction has not always been nonviolent.