http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/arts/music/beethoven-without-brilliance/article1977400/
I read this article, gobsmacked.
Is it possible that the reviewer and I were sitting in the same hall, listening to the same orchestra and the same choir?
Has it really come to what I have long dreaded about Toronto—the part of this city’s culture that makes me cringe: the gatherings in which I have had to sit, tape over my mouth, listening to a barrage of who’s who, what’s what, what’s right and what-I-know?
Really, who gives a flying bird?
Who cares whether the last rendition/s you heard—and, according to your finely tuned hearing—demonstrated nuances that were interpreted more correctly?
Who gives a leaping lizard what you know about music; where you’ve studied, and who your influences are?—because, really, that's what I took as the core of your article.
Let me tell you, uneducated peon that I am, how I felt about last night’s concert:
I have been a Tafelmusik season’s ticketholder for five years. I sit in the upper balcony, hanging over the railing, gaping down performance after performance, always leaving the concert and the evening with a litany of wide-ranging opinions. As much as I am in awe of Tafelmusik and its players, I have not loved everything they have produced.
That said, I could not possibly have been more moved by the entirety of last night’s concert. In fact, because of my daughter’s failing health, I have been unable to attend all but two performances this season.
How thrilled was I, then, that last night should have been one of them?
I was moved every which way—by the choir, by the selections, by the musical director, by the conductors, by what felt like a highly nuanced performance; by the way the music made me feel, caused me to reminisce, gave me chills, made me laugh, stimulated tears, delighted everyone sitting nearby, and left me wanting more and more. The choir, the orchestra, the conductors, their rendition...everything shone like a thousand blazing suns, as brilliant as anything I have heard or seen.
And yes, I have studied music—in a conservatory—albeit briefly. And yes, I have had a small hand (my left one) in song-writing. And yes, I have lived long enough to form opinions about choirs, orchestras and musical interpretation.
And no, I have no desire to name names, cite composers, or compare previous performances. I care only how the music—their music—made me feel.
When I came home and telephoned my partner in Ottawa, I said to her, “I know I have said this more than once, but I have to tell you that tonight, truly, was the most exceptional night I have had at a Tafelmusik concert.” And then I thanked her for buying me the ticket. And then I cried.
And if that doesn’t tell you everything, then go read the review in the Globe and Mail, which evidently does.
