The weekend before last I was in Chicago. That first day, the day I arrived 2 1/2 hours later than planned due to flight delays, the day I missed an appointment, the day after I had closed on the old house and was still exhausted from moving out, I went to two concerts. In fact I was running so late that I almost didn't make the first concert, and I was so tired I wondered if there was any sense in it, but I had bought the ticket, and it wasn't cheap, so I went.
I was glad I did.
Friday afternoon I attended the Chicago Symphony. Ricardo Muti was conducting the Brahms symphonies, and I was in town for the first two. I perhaps feared a stodgy performance of Brahms, a gentle dusting off of the standard repertoire, and I feared that I would doze off. My fears were unfounded. The first symphony opened with a strong sense of controlled drama. I felt the second movement could have strayed a little further into lyrical territory, but that may be due to my own emotional yearnings more than any understanding of Brahms. The rest of the piece came together beautifully with a thunderous and convincing release of restrained turbulence in the finale, like a distant thunderstorm approaching only to be cast aside just before its climactic arrival with a sudden break in the clouds and the arrival of a sudden burst of sunshine in the form of a horn solo.
The second symphony was also incredible, with an almost a pastoral undercurrent in the opening movement. That Brahmsian restraint was still present, but it felt more lightly held here. Again the second movement did not quite live up to my expectations. It is, to my mind, a slow, ruminative work, deeply imbued with melancholy, yet never quite surrendering. In this performance the movement felt rushed, as if the conductor had no time for meditative melancholy, or as if going to slowly would flirt too closely with a loss of control, I'm not sure which. There was a palpable sense of "hurry up" present in the performance which did not serve the work well. I felt the conductor and the musicians, the music itself, felt at odds. Yet all came together again in the allegretto, as if Muti's instincts and the music were more at peace, and the orchestra pulled off that balance between emotional release and intellectual control that marks Brahms's works, that flirtation with the pastoral without ever quite giving in.
In the evening I was back at Symphony Hall for a jazz concert. I found this concert more difficult. I wanted to go, and I enjoyed the concert overall, but there were times when I was also confused and even bored. It brought to the forefront my struggles with Jazz; the way my expectations and my enjoyment don't always align, as if there is something I just don't understand, some frame of reference I am missing. Every time I am bored with a concert, I think perhaps jazz is not my thing, but then, just as I am ready to say "never again", I am captivated by something new. I wonder this is simply because I have not listened enough, or if it is something deeper. Basically, the jazz concert reminded me that I really haven't quite figured out what I like or even why I like what I like.
The first part of the concert featured Regina Carter playing music honoring the late Ella Fitzgerald. I felt that Carter successfully translated the theme of Ella's swing into something that suited them both, capturing both a sense of Fitzgerald while at the same time honoring Carter's own talents and interests. I did enjoy most of the music, and I liked the way she started with a reference, and a hit of swingtime but took it in different directions. Yet I also felt occasionally bored, and my mind would wander off, wondering if I was missing some key element. There were moments that were heartbreakingly beautiful, and other times when I felt that the performance stayed in too long in a fairly narrow stylistic range, perhaps popular, but at times mind-numbing. I yearned for greater dynamism and a bit more of the wonderful harmonic invention of which Carter is quite capable, but which did not seem present that night. Or perhaps it was just me. My neighbors, long time subscribers, seemed perfectly content. Anyway, by the time I figured this out, it was time for intermission and I was happy to stretch my legs.
The second half of the program was more to my taste and made me sit up and take notice. Perhaps I just had better reference points, perhaps I am just more attracted to the edgier world of the SF Jazz Collecive. Although I am familiar with both Ella Fitzgerald, and the work of Miles Davis, perhaps Davis is closer to my heart. Perhaps also I am attracted to the way the members of the SF Jazz collective were willing to transform Davis's music, I treasured the riffs and the references. Both my neighbor, the long-time subscriber, and I were chortling under our breath and rocking our seats during Sean Jones transformation of "So What" and I loved the playfulness of their take on "Feel the Groove". Woolf's vibraphone playing was shimmeringly beautiful, but my favorite piece was Miguel Zenon's rearrangement of Nardis with the incredible acuity and audacity of the high-velocity four-horn front line and Zenon's incredible solos. The piece I least understood was David Sanchez's original work "Canto". It was gentle and melodic and quite beautiful in places, but I was also bored and felt it lacked tension. Or perhaps I was just tired. The concert started at 8 Central Standard time, 9 by my east-coast body's time, and perhaps exhaustion simply played a role.
Two wonderful concerts, and they were exciting and soothing the way only music can be. I missed a concert in Knoxville that weekend, but I think I got the better deal.
