Aren't surprises lovely!
I learned some months ago that one of my students plays French horn in an orchestra here. During a quiet moment in class Monday I asked him if his June concert had already taken place. Surprise -- it was tonight. I asked just in time.
Yet another surprise -- it was held in a church in my neighborhood. I've passed the church dozens of times since it is right on my tram line. "Evangelistika" is in its name, and I'd heard that it is somewhat in a line back to Jan Hus ("his" day is a holiday here in a couple of weeks). It is not a typical Prague church. It's front/facade is almost like every other apartment building in the block, only a few religious touches set it apart, not at all like the free-standing buildings which are such a part of the city scape. (You may know that Prague is also called a City of Spires.) I've been curious but never stopped, made a special trip to learn and see more, or even considered attending a service. Tonight was the night. It is beautiful inside, lovely frescoes, a balcony around three sides of the church reminiscent of Old First in Springfield, MA and Joan Grindrod-Helm's church in Northumberland, UK. So sitting in the pew brought back wonderful memories.
And another surprise -- while sitting quietly, observing my fellow concert goers, struggling (shamefully) with the Czech program, a fine young gentleman joined me. Indeed, another of my students. He is an interesting young man, a good conversationalist, and an all-round pleasant companion. What a treat to have his company so unexpectedly. I believe he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
The members of the orchestra were young, mostly mid-to late twenties and thirties. Some may have been in their early forties. But they definitely weren't students! The conductor also may still be waiting for his thirtieth birthday! But what lovely music they made together. His conducting was sure; they understood what he wanted and gave it to him -- all of them! What a pleasure.
And then there was the music. Ah, yes. They opened with Mendelssohn's Third Symphony, one of my favorites. It was totally satisfying. Radek had told me they were playing Dvorak, "our best composer." The second portion of the evening was the Slavonik Dances, Opus 46. I must admit my fingers were itching and twitching. And now I've heard Dvorak played and conducted by Czechs in a Czech setting, surrounded by Czechs. Their enjoyment of the music was noticeable, and it was clear these were familiar sounds to members of the audience.
I lingered a bit afterwards. By the time I'd made my way to the door, members of the orchestra were also beginning to leave. It was so pleasant to see and feel their enjoyment of the concert. I could tell they knew they had played well -- it's always such a pleasure to see others enjoy the results of their hard work. There was a sense of camaraderie and accomplishment. It was clear this was not just another "gig" and they were moving on to the next job. They'd made music because they wanted to and because it made them happy to share it. And I was one of the fortunate recipients.
But wait -- one more surprise. At the intermission I was joined by the one colleague to whom I'd mentioned the concert. The comment was rather off the cuff. I certainly did not expect him to come. And there he was. He's also a musician, a marvelous British gentleman, good teacher, fine colleague, great friend. More good conversation, more enjoyment.
What a surprising midweek treat. I can hardly wait to see and hear what's next.
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
A Perfect June Evening
Sometimes everything lines up just right, nothing could possibly be any better, at least for that one happening. And I was privileged to have one of those nights this past week. Absolutely a night to remember . . .
One of my colleagues is a beautiful young woman from Sri Lanka. Our lives had crossed paths in several different ways. In one of those encounters I learned that not only is she fluent in many languages and teaches English, she is also a pianist. Because I'd heard only brief statements now and again of both her gift and her background, I had no idea the depth of those gifts and heritage. Her father is Sri Lanka's most famous composer. Working in the tradition of Janacek and Dvorak, who were his inspiration, he combines folk melodies with classical composition. Gayathri continues in those footsteps. After studying in the conservatory in her homeland, she moved to Prague 13 years ago -- she still looks like a teenager -- to study at the Prague Conservatory because she "loves Bach." After rigorous studies there, she was accepted at the highly selective Academy of Early Music. Why all this background? Because her classical training is so far from the music of the evening that it seems another world away. I heard Phillip Glass in her playing, not J.S!
She interrupted her studies following the tsunami, first to return to Sri Lanka to see her family and help in the relief efforts, then to return to Prague, giving a series of concerts of the music of Czech composers to raise money for the effort. In addition to this, she composed and played the soundtrack for the documentary about the victims, Facing the Waves, which also looked at the issue of racism which was reopened following the disaster. This is one gifted young lady, a person to remember and follow.
And now to the evening.
The setting was Zizkov Atrium. Zizkov is another of Prague's many and varied districts. It borders my home, so a leisurely walk, including supper with a wonderful new friend, was the perfect opener for a perfect evening. Good talk, good food, great views of lovely architecture I'd not seen, all under a quiet, end-of-the-day sky. And then we arrived at Atrium. Oh my goodness! Total awe. There, set back from the sidewalk (remember, the "apartment" buildings border the sidewalk with the greenery inside the rectangle) was an exquisite mellow cream-yellow building, wrought iron gate, roses, lush trees, brick and cobblestone entrance way. It is one of those places where I automatically drop my voice to a whisper. And then to enter. First a long hall-type entry with the concert hall on one side and a courtyard "cafe" on the other. Walking into the courtyard brought the wonderful surprise of many colleagues, already enjoying their espresso, wine, and conversation. (This group of colleagues is known for how much they support each other -- it may not be "my thing," but I'll be there for you!) The doors were opened. It was almost like being transported. I kept saying to myself "this had to have been a church," "I just know this was a church." The concert grand was on the marble "chancel", at the back there were two marble niches awaiting more holy water, and I'm certain I could tell where the confessional had been at one time in this magical building's history.
This is a small venue, tucked away in its own corner of the world, a little bit of a walk from any tram or metro. Of course I had to search the web. here's what I found (with only slight editing). In the Tchaikovsky street you can find historically protected building - Baroquechurch of St. Promote,
Then the music. Most of the program was solo piano, all Gayathri's compositions. The program carried the title "Me and My Elephant" with a picture of her sitting beside and petting, yes, an enormous elephant. Talk about size extremes! The pieces and the program notes told a haunting story, both in words and music, of the terrors and tragedies of war and of racism, the disruptions and losses, repetitive themes of being lost, searching, finding a small space for rest. The last number before intermission she was joined by Badra, a drummer from Mali. During the second half -- and by the way, applause occurs only at the intermission and at the end of the program -- she was joined by her group, a bassist and a violinist. The last number was absolutely, no question, the best. Great rhythms, great freedom, soaring music.
To open the concert two people introduced the evening -- one in English, another in Czech -- and presented her mother and a close friend with yellow roses, a Sri Lankan tradition. Also two small candles were lit at the front of the stage. At the close, it was very emotional to see her mother, even tinier than Gayathri, come forward to embrace her, and to think of all that had occurred to bring them to this point.
This is probably her last concert in Prague, at least for some time. In January she's emigrating to Canada, joining her sister who left a few years ago because of the racism here. Pity, pity. And in my Caucasian skin I can only begin to feel the ripples of it.
For now -- I was privileged to be there when magic happened.
One of my colleagues is a beautiful young woman from Sri Lanka. Our lives had crossed paths in several different ways. In one of those encounters I learned that not only is she fluent in many languages and teaches English, she is also a pianist. Because I'd heard only brief statements now and again of both her gift and her background, I had no idea the depth of those gifts and heritage. Her father is Sri Lanka's most famous composer. Working in the tradition of Janacek and Dvorak, who were his inspiration, he combines folk melodies with classical composition. Gayathri continues in those footsteps. After studying in the conservatory in her homeland, she moved to Prague 13 years ago -- she still looks like a teenager -- to study at the Prague Conservatory because she "loves Bach." After rigorous studies there, she was accepted at the highly selective Academy of Early Music. Why all this background? Because her classical training is so far from the music of the evening that it seems another world away. I heard Phillip Glass in her playing, not J.S!
She interrupted her studies following the tsunami, first to return to Sri Lanka to see her family and help in the relief efforts, then to return to Prague, giving a series of concerts of the music of Czech composers to raise money for the effort. In addition to this, she composed and played the soundtrack for the documentary about the victims, Facing the Waves, which also looked at the issue of racism which was reopened following the disaster. This is one gifted young lady, a person to remember and follow.
And now to the evening.
The setting was Zizkov Atrium. Zizkov is another of Prague's many and varied districts. It borders my home, so a leisurely walk, including supper with a wonderful new friend, was the perfect opener for a perfect evening. Good talk, good food, great views of lovely architecture I'd not seen, all under a quiet, end-of-the-day sky. And then we arrived at Atrium. Oh my goodness! Total awe. There, set back from the sidewalk (remember, the "apartment" buildings border the sidewalk with the greenery inside the rectangle) was an exquisite mellow cream-yellow building, wrought iron gate, roses, lush trees, brick and cobblestone entrance way. It is one of those places where I automatically drop my voice to a whisper. And then to enter. First a long hall-type entry with the concert hall on one side and a courtyard "cafe" on the other. Walking into the courtyard brought the wonderful surprise of many colleagues, already enjoying their espresso, wine, and conversation. (This group of colleagues is known for how much they support each other -- it may not be "my thing," but I'll be there for you!) The doors were opened. It was almost like being transported. I kept saying to myself "this had to have been a church," "I just know this was a church." The concert grand was on the marble "chancel", at the back there were two marble niches awaiting more holy water, and I'm certain I could tell where the confessional had been at one time in this magical building's history.
This is a small venue, tucked away in its own corner of the world, a little bit of a walk from any tram or metro. Of course I had to search the web. here's what I found (with only slight editing). In the Tchaikovsky street you can find historically protected building - Baroque
Then the music. Most of the program was solo piano, all Gayathri's compositions. The program carried the title "Me and My Elephant" with a picture of her sitting beside and petting, yes, an enormous elephant. Talk about size extremes! The pieces and the program notes told a haunting story, both in words and music, of the terrors and tragedies of war and of racism, the disruptions and losses, repetitive themes of being lost, searching, finding a small space for rest. The last number before intermission she was joined by Badra, a drummer from Mali. During the second half -- and by the way, applause occurs only at the intermission and at the end of the program -- she was joined by her group, a bassist and a violinist. The last number was absolutely, no question, the best. Great rhythms, great freedom, soaring music.
To open the concert two people introduced the evening -- one in English, another in Czech -- and presented her mother and a close friend with yellow roses, a Sri Lankan tradition. Also two small candles were lit at the front of the stage. At the close, it was very emotional to see her mother, even tinier than Gayathri, come forward to embrace her, and to think of all that had occurred to bring them to this point.
This is probably her last concert in Prague, at least for some time. In January she's emigrating to Canada, joining her sister who left a few years ago because of the racism here. Pity, pity. And in my Caucasian skin I can only begin to feel the ripples of it.
For now -- I was privileged to be there when magic happened.
Monday, February 18, 2008
76 Trombones
Well, maybe not, but certainly hundreds of instruments.
After spending weekend time getting things in order, preparing for the new week, and avoiding a really cold day, I took advantage of a lesson cancellation today to keep a promise to myself: I will visit the Museum of Music. One side note -- I tried earlier and simply could not make enough correct turns to find it. I knew from my original accidental discovery that it would be worth whatever effort another attempt required.
The Museum's new home is a very old space. It was originally the Church of St. Magdalene in the Lesser Town (same side of the river, just down the hill from The Castle, side by side by side with neighbors built in the same century -- the 17th!). It belonged to a Dominican Monastery which was closed in 1783 -- we're talking way over 100 years as a church before spending time as a post office, a police barracks, and an archive, among other things. There behind an enormous, heavy, dark old door which could be an entrance to any one of hundreds of Prague buildings is a clean 20th century renovation. Just through the swish of an electric-eye door is an enormous four-story hall with clean lines and an invitation to whisper or yell -- no middle choice there. And then, just at the next turn of a corner there are little nooks, small details which absolutely breathe church/sacred music/whispering cassocks. To stand at the first-floor railing overlooking what once must have been the "sanctuary" and nearly break a vertebrae looking up -- what an incredible view. Couldn't help but wonder what those windows must have seen, those walls must have heard.
All this is all before the instruments enter the scene. Yes, I saw Mozart's piano (or at least one of them), a krumhorn and other instruments (which were until now only organ stops/registration for me), 16 incredible flutes (teeny to huge) in only one of the display cases, two (not just one) glass harmoniums, square pianos, a giraffe piano, quarter-tone pianos, first attempts which became music makers we all recognize and those which left the scene nearly as early as they joined it. Oh my oh my. Walk and walk and walk, stop/look/listen -- there are marvelous listening posts nearly everywhere, and, more than anything, feel like such a small drop of water in the marvelous river of musical history.
About those trombones -- they and many, many other brass, woodwind, few-stringed and multiple-stringed instruments are there. And you should see the harps -- a whole room of them. By the way, the cases for some of the pianos simply defy description. Incredible woodworking!
What a way to start a week! And as I closed the door behind me I renewed my promise to return.
After spending weekend time getting things in order, preparing for the new week, and avoiding a really cold day, I took advantage of a lesson cancellation today to keep a promise to myself: I will visit the Museum of Music. One side note -- I tried earlier and simply could not make enough correct turns to find it. I knew from my original accidental discovery that it would be worth whatever effort another attempt required.
The Museum's new home is a very old space. It was originally the Church of St. Magdalene in the Lesser Town (same side of the river, just down the hill from The Castle, side by side by side with neighbors built in the same century -- the 17th!). It belonged to a Dominican Monastery which was closed in 1783 -- we're talking way over 100 years as a church before spending time as a post office, a police barracks, and an archive, among other things. There behind an enormous, heavy, dark old door which could be an entrance to any one of hundreds of Prague buildings is a clean 20th century renovation. Just through the swish of an electric-eye door is an enormous four-story hall with clean lines and an invitation to whisper or yell -- no middle choice there. And then, just at the next turn of a corner there are little nooks, small details which absolutely breathe church/sacred music/whispering cassocks. To stand at the first-floor railing overlooking what once must have been the "sanctuary" and nearly break a vertebrae looking up -- what an incredible view. Couldn't help but wonder what those windows must have seen, those walls must have heard.
All this is all before the instruments enter the scene. Yes, I saw Mozart's piano (or at least one of them), a krumhorn and other instruments (which were until now only organ stops/registration for me), 16 incredible flutes (teeny to huge) in only one of the display cases, two (not just one) glass harmoniums, square pianos, a giraffe piano, quarter-tone pianos, first attempts which became music makers we all recognize and those which left the scene nearly as early as they joined it. Oh my oh my. Walk and walk and walk, stop/look/listen -- there are marvelous listening posts nearly everywhere, and, more than anything, feel like such a small drop of water in the marvelous river of musical history.
About those trombones -- they and many, many other brass, woodwind, few-stringed and multiple-stringed instruments are there. And you should see the harps -- a whole room of them. By the way, the cases for some of the pianos simply defy description. Incredible woodworking!
What a way to start a week! And as I closed the door behind me I renewed my promise to return.
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