The Symphonic Wallflower

James Joyce once said that if the town of Dublin were ever erased from the planet, it could be rebuilt brick by brick from the detailed descriptions in his own novel Ulysses. Conceivably he was not talking about structural designs or the type of brick and mortar that formed its walls, but in a word, its essence. It is that which is unsaid, unspeakable, and indescribable, and many artists struggle to capture the spirit of their inspiration. Few artists actually attain this goal, though perhaps its comprehensibility is left up to the listener, reader or viewer to make that judgment. For me, Mahler’s Second Symphony is the culmination of so many emotions: ferocity – serenity – chaos – cynicism – peace – the sublime. It portrays the unspoken possibility of existence after death and seems to create its own philosophy within its ninety-minute span.

The term "Resurrection" is taken from the title of a hymn by German poet Friedrich Klopstock, the first eight lines of which Mahler uses in the final movement of this symphony. Mahler was inspired to use this hymn while attending the funeral of friend and fellow conductor Hans von Bülow in 1894. In addition to Klopstock’s lines, Mahler added a few of his own, too.

As any biographer of Mahler will tell you, Mahler was conflicted throughout his life regarding his religious views. Raised in a Judaic household in what is now Jihlava, a small village in modern-day Czech Republic, he later converted to Catholicism, but only as a means to an end: to become conductor of the Vienna State Opera in 1897. Even though Mahler wrote Christian-based music in his Second, Third, Fourth and Eighth Symphonies, Mahler never denied his Jewish upbringing; instead he embraced it and incorporated klezmer-style fragments into them as well.
 
In Mahler’s mind (and perhaps for many of us), death is the ultimate unknown, and he seems to use this symphony as his idealistic journey to a religious awakening. From the first movement funeral march (a Totenfeier, or Death Celebration), the soul witnesses many different realms in both life and death throughout the symphony. The second movement, based on the joyous German waltz-like ländler, is more tender and contemplative; perhaps remembering the gentle (and not so gentle) moments of earthly life. The third movement, based on Mahler’s own song Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt (St. Anthony of Padua’s Sermon to the Fish) recalls those in life who remain brainless despite council from those who offer wise encouragement. In the fourth movement (the first time a voice is heard in any of Mahler’s symphonies), we hear an individual who pines for a more heavenly existence.

The fifth movement alone culminates the essence of the symphony for me. If I were ever stranded on an island, this would be the music I would take with me. Its triumphant, regal and heart-stopping drama somehow speaks to me. You will hear off-stage horn calls throughout the movement, announcing the arrival of a seemingly unearthly power. The climax of the movement, beginning around the fifteen minute mark, is first heralded by a soft two-note trombone "sigh" (foreshadowing the mezzo soprano’s plaintive cry O glaube – or I believe – later in the movement) and dramatically builds energy, complete with off-stage brass band, rumbling timpani, triple-tongued figures in the horns and screaming piccolos until the entire orchestra explodes into its grandest and most powerful registers for the ultimate apocalyptic climax. And just as suddenly as it all began, it abruptly pauses – causing every heart in the auditorium to stop simultaneously. The sound of that silence is captivating, and is one of few moments in music that lifts me up and breaks me down at the same time. Mahler excels at this. He captures the essence of life, religion, nature and human emotion in his music so remarkably well that he brings the listener one step closer to illumination.

Enjoy this symphony – revel in every movement. Close your eyes and listen for Mahler’s voice to speak.  I’ve been listening to this symphony for years, and I promise you it’s there.

Personally, I owe tremendous gratitude to the artists that will work together to create this memorable weekend on May 21-22, 2010: Juanjo Mena, conductor; Karina Gauvin, Soprano; Susanne Mentzer, mezzo-soprano; the Indianapolis Symphonic Choir led by Dr. Eric Stark, and most importantly to former Music Director Mario Venzago, whose idea it was to program this glorious work again after 23 years. Vielen Dank, Maestro.

(This blog is dedicated to my graduate professor Bruce Bellingham [1938-2010] from the University of Connecticut, who taught me how to listen to Mahler’s music not just as a musician, but as a human being.)
 

It is quite extraordinary how the human brain can tuck away memories into the subconscious, only to be triggered back to the surface later in life. When asked to write a blog about my experiences with Yo-Yo Ma in Louisville in May of 1999, I remembered only a few minor details about the evening. After all, my time with him and pianist Jeffrey Kahane ten years ago spanned a fraction of a day – a mere five hours, if that. My trigger for that evening was a picture of Yo-Yo and me at the post-concert reception that night, which rekindled my memory of the evening and yielded my blog entry on July 7 (see “A Heart of Gold” below).

On October 1, 2009, Yo-Yo Ma and Jeffrey Kahane reunited in Indianapolis for a one-night performance at the Hilbert Circle Theatre with the ISO, and what I witnessed will surely be remembered. Humanity in classical music presents itself in many different forms, but this time it was through something the audience rarely has the opportunity to witness in the performers onstage: Humor.

I collected both gentlemen at the hotel prior to the rehearsal. Though some guest artists of this caliber respectfully feign familiarity with management they have worked with in the past, I had a hard time believing that Yo-Yo didn’t remember me. It felt as if a day hadn’t gone by, apart from my extra ten pounds and Yo-Yo’s stylishly new glasses.   A few minutes after reacquainting ourselves, Jeffrey descended and gave Yo-Yo a hug.  It was at this point another memory triggered – I had forgotten the amazing friendship between these two men until they started laughing – and they laughed the entire way to the hall. Not just the obliging gentlemanly chuckle, but the boisterous, wheezing, gut-busting howling at each other’s jokes. Somehow, even Jeffrey’s hilarious description of the Cyclops in Homer’s Odyssey made Yo-Yo’s endless giggling explode into a high-pitched belly laugh. Both men could barely walk by the time we reached the theatre a few minutes later.

This brotherly friendship is equally as evident on the stage, though mutually understood in a purely musical realm. The respective communication between the two was intriguing to witness during the performance of Dvorák’s Cello Concerto. Jeffrey’s animated control of the orchestra and Yo-Yo’s exquisite mastery of the concerto produced a glorious response from the sold-out theatre, whose ranks were captivated by the encore, J.S. Bach’s Sarabande from the Sixth Cello Suite (the same movement Yo-Yo performed at Senator Ted Kennedy’s funeral this past August).

What is remarkable is that though I have trouble remembering my own birthday without the help of my Facebook account, I will not forget laughing hysterically at the dynamic between Yo-Yo Ma and Jeffrey Kahane and witnessing their amazing collaboration on stage for the second time in my life. Both have their own solo careers in cello and piano, respectively, and Jeffrey even manages to juggle his music directorships at the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra and the Colorado Symphony simultaneously. But when these two musical brothers do have the opportunity to perform together, they shine, and the memory is unforgettable.

Following Botti

By Erik Thogerson

 

Chris Botti and former teacher Fred Sautter

When comparing Chris Botti’s life to my own there are some striking similarities.  We were both born in Portland, Oregon, albeit 24 years apart.  Both of us began playing trumpet at a fairly early age, and eventually studied privately with Fred Sautter, former Principal Trumpet, Oregon Symphony.   Both of us took classes at Mt. Hood Community College and then eventually headed off to the Midwest to begin attending Indiana University. 

I clearly remember one of my trumpet lessons in high school when Fred told me that it’s almost impossible to tell if a student is going to go on to be great or not.  He said that there only have been three students that he has ever taught (in forty plus years of teaching) that he was sure would go on to greatness.  One of them was Chris Botti. 

Twelve solo albums and countless concerts collaborating with some of the greatest performers of our time later, I guess you could say that Fred was right.

Last May I graduated from Indiana University.  Now, this is where I think my path will start heading in a different direction that Chris’.  I don’t have the same aspirations for my career that Chris had when leaving Indiana University.  However, now that my path has led me to Indianapolis, it looks as though Chris may be following me for once.  He will be here performing with the ISO on November 24^th and while we have never actually met it seems as though we will have plenty to talk about.

May 10, 1999 was a Monday, and I remember it fondly. Not only was it the birthday of a dear friend of mine who ended up not accepting my mild romantic affections a few months earlier, but it was also the day I would be meeting the first of dozens of celebrities I would come to know over the next decade, and without a doubt one I would never forget.

With a dark blue cello case strapped tightly against his shoulders, Yo-Yo Ma stepped off the plane in Louisville, Kentucky. He approached me, warmly shook my hand and said, “Hi! I’m Yo-Yo Ma!” To all those who have ever wondered after seeing his interviews and TV specials, let the truth be told: Yes, he really is that nice. From the moment he stuffed his multi-million dollar cello into the boot of my crowded Mazda sedan, he wanted to hear only about me – even down to how big my farm was in southern Indiana, and by the end of the day he affectionately referred to me as “40-acre boy.”

That evening he presented a recital with pianist Jeffrey Kahane at the Palace Theatre in downtown Louisville in an unforgettable program: J.S. Bach’s Sonata in D major for viola da gamba BWV 1028, plus a set of “New” Goldberg Variations, a work comprised of six movements by various contemporary composers – Christopher Rouse, John Corigliano and Peter Schickele, among others – that were bookended (as in the original) by the evocative Aria from Bach’s own BWV 988 Goldberg Variations of 1741. The second half of the concert was the 30-minute Sonata in G minor for Cello and Piano, Op. 19 of Rachmaninoff, which was truly the musical highlight of the evening.

The dinner afterwards was even more memorable.

Even though the reservation was made well in advance, our post-11 p.m. arrival in the foyer at Vincenzo’s Italian Restaurant (complete with Yamaha grand piano) did not make us a welcome party. At first, no one could be found in the restaurant, so Yo-Yo bolted into the kitchen (with his cello still strapped to his back). I soon followed only to find him in front of the preparation sinks apologizing profusely to Vincenzo’s wife, who was livid that she had been waiting so long for such a small party. With some hesitation, her annoyance eventually abated and the one remaining waiter began to bring cold appetizers and wine. Yo-Yo helped the waiter and served us before seating himself. 

Nearly two hours later (and after the final cask of grappa had been consumed), we packed up our things and began to head out. Yo-Yo continued to thank the owner’s wife for her patience; after all, she had catered to our every detail and I noticed she was physically exhausted, but still appreciative of our gratitude. Yo-Yo noticed this too, and after whispering in Jeffrey Kahane’s ear and giving him a smile and simultaneous nod, he unpacked his cello in the foyer as Jeffrey sat down at the piano. The couple performed exclusively for her – from memory – the Andante from Rachmaninoff’s Sonata. By the end of the 6-minute movement, she was reduced to tears. The next twenty minutes were spent watching this woman shower Yo-Yo and Jeffrey with adoration.

The heart of this man is truly made of gold. It is without a doubt that he shows it everywhere he goes. When you see his beaming face accept an audience’s applause, or watch as he smiles at the orchestra and its conductor following a raving performance, you know that it is genuine. He is a gift to today’s musical world, and those of us attending his return to the Hilbert Circle Theatre with the Indianapolis Symphony in October 2009 (after a 13-year hiatus) should soak up every moment. He will touch every heart in the hall, and will make it an evening to remember, as it did for me a decade ago.

And even though I never won the heart of my dear friend that year, she did receive an anonymous birthday gift in the mail a few days later – an autographed CD of a world-famous cellist that simply read: “Happy Birthday, Eliza. Love, Yo-Yo.”