"My" symphony (warning: classical music article)

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I was at the filmed performance of the Eroica, but only now know why it was filmed. This is so exciting for me, and I hope some of you might be able to see the series on PBS. - Perdita
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Symphonic sounds like you've never heard them -- a new TV, online series goes deep inside S.F. orchestra - Jesse Hamlin, SF Chronicle, June 15, 2004

Gary Halvorson sat at the control panel in a trailer behind Davies Symphony Hall, surrounded by a half dozen other people in headsets watching TV monitors stacked along the wall or following cue-coded scores to Beethoven's Symphony No. 3.

Inside the hall, conductor Michael Tilson Thomas and the San Francisco Symphony were rehearsing the famous funeral march from Beethoven's "Eroica," seemingly oblivious to the camera people stationed around the stage or the boom dangling over their heads.

"I need to see more basses!'' said Halvorson, directing the 10-camera video crew whose every shot -- more than 700 in all -- he'd choreographed according to the phrasing and orchestration of the music. Snapping his fingers on the upbeats, he called out a cue every few seconds, shifting from instrument to instrument, face to face, from wide shots to close-ups, as the piece unfolded.

A Juilliard-trained pianist who now makes his living directing sitcoms like "Everybody Loves Raymond'' and "Friends,'' Halvorson is directing all the performance segments in "Keeping Score: MTT on Music.'' That's the ambitious $20 million, five-year project the San Francisco Symphony is creating for TV, radio and the Internet in an effort to bring classical music to a wider audience by stressing its timeless power to express emotions we all experience.
Mixing documentary elements and live performances, "Keeping Score'' kicks off Wednesday night with a two-part program on Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 4, airing on PBS' "Great Performances."

Starting at 8 p.m. on KQED (Channel 9), the first segment, "The Making of a Performance,'' explores how Thomas and the musicians prepare to perform the work -- intellectually, technically and emotionally. And why they commit themselves to bringing a 127-year-old piece of music to life.

The second segment, starting at 9 p.m., features a complete performance of Tchaikovsky's Fourth recorded live at Davies. In the fall of 2005, the series will feature three programs dealing with the theme of revolution -- external and internal revolution. The first focuses on Beethoven's Third Symphony, the second on Stravinsky's "The Rite of Spring'' and the third on Copland's music.

"I want this to be another step in making classical music a much more direct experience, helping people recognize what a direct, approachable kind of music it is,'' said Thomas, talking in his office recently between rehearsals.

"The main thing for me is that all these big pieces say such specific things about how you deal with life. They're kind of guides to how you deal with life and who you have to be at different times in your life to get through things -- where you accept your frustrations, where you find inspiration, where you take courage. It's all in the music.'' (It's true! P.)

Thomas riffs on that idea at the start of "The Making of a Performance,'' which, like the other documentary segments in the series, was produced and directed by the award-winning San Francisco team of David Kennard (producer of "Carl Sagan's Cosmos'') and Joan Saffa.

Thomas, who has always tried to take some of the starch out of classical music, hosts the show with a mix of charm and intensity. He talks from the empty Davies stage, and while driving around town in a sporty Volvo with his shades on. He notes the sounds of horns and birds, church bells and cable car clangs.

We see him rehearsing with the orchestra and individual musicians; playing with his poodle at Crissy Field as he discusses the playful mood of Tchaikovsky's third movement; humming and marking the score as he paces around his attic ("I'm looking for the little things, inflections or changes of mood''). He bangs out chords and sings melodies at the piano, while talking about the fateful foreboding and loneliness Tchaikovsky was exploring. And how the composer notated those feelings in a language others could play and share those emotions.

The music, Thomas tells the TV audience, "was about his inner life. And he never looks away when it gets too tough or too sentimental or too bitter. We recognize our own life in the notes written about his own life.''

In addition to the TV shows, "Keeping Score'' also includes a Web site (www.keepingscore.org) where viewers can see video clips, hear music and read more about the composers, themes and works being discussed. A 13-part companion radio series, produced with Minnesota Public Radio, which broadcast the Symphony's "American Mavericks" series, will be aired next year.

The first segment lays the foundation for the rest of the series, focusing on what it actually takes to perform this music. We meet musicians like oboist Bill Bennett, who shows how he makes his own reeds ("the bane of our existence,'' he says), and French horn soloist Robert Ward, who says there's nothing more exhilarating than "to be in the middle of a brass section in a Tchaikovsky symphony and just letting it rip.''

Piccolo player Catherine Payne speaks of the trepidation with which she and every other piccolo player approaches the dazzling and demanding piccolo solo in the third movement of the Tchaikovsky. "I have to come in and nail it,'' she says.

Then there's Russian-born fiddler Zoya Leybin, who likens the violin to a child that "has to have your heartbeat, your warm hands. And the response is similar -- very warm, very loving.'' Music, she says, "is the voice of the Russian soul, and Tchaikovsky's music mirrors that soul.''

Thomas and Halvorson, the director, wanted to underscore the communication between musicians during a performance, both visually and aurally, and the subtle ways countermelodies and orchestral colors are brought out and balanced.

"I'm trying to make it exciting, so that it's not the same, stodgy old way of doing things,'' said Halvorson, who began his TV career directing one of Leonard Bernstein's music shows (Thomas' approach to music making, of course, was influenced by Bernstein) and has filmed concerts by the Los Angeles Philharmonic.

"A lot of classical musicians will just stay in the score and only peripherally look at the conductor to get the downbeat. We're encouraging the musicians to free themselves a little bit from looking at the scores and watching Michael more, as he's watching them. That creates a tension and communication between them that helps the music grow, and it's much more visually interesting to watch on TV. It's like watching the quarterback with his players. You get to be inside with them.''

Thomas said the director often focuses a camera on the musicians he's looking at during a particular passage.

"Although a big theme may be crashing in the brass, I may actually be looking at and paying attention to some intricate switchback in the bass line to make sure it's really working, or I want it to emerge more. Very often in the past, when I've done videos with very good directors, there was something sort of unsettling when I saw the video. Although it was a wonderful representation of the piece, I realized that the camera was not looking at the things I would look at during the performances. That's a layer we've added here.''

Halvorson discusses the moods and meaning of each score with Thomas, and how to best to express them visually, whether through long pans or quick cuts. Then he goes through the piece and assigns a camera shot for every phrase. One of the pluses of watching classical music on the tube, he said, is that viewers get a better sense of the orchestration.

"The main melody is being played, then I cut to musicians playing the countermelody, and all of a sudden you hear the countermelody, which you wouldn't do if you were sitting in the back of the house. By visually showing the pizzicato, or the arco bass supporting the melody, you suddenly appreciate the orchestration and hear those voices that give this composer his voice.''

Of course, a certain amount of improvisation occurs. Sometimes Halvorson sees a shot he likes and decides to hold on it and skip the next cue. "Start to tighten on Michael,'' he told a cameraman while running through the Beethoven recently. "Keep going. Start moving. Stay right in there. Don't go any further. Hold."

Just before the scherzo began, Halvorson primed his crew: "Here we go guys. This goes like a bat out of hell.'' During the fourth movement, the camera zoomed in on flutist Robin McKee, revealing her blue-and-green nails. "Hey, what's with the Oakland nail polish?'' asked Halvorson, cracking up his assistants. "I love it.''

McKee is one of the musicians who appears in "The Making of a Performance'' documentary, which was written by Thomas, who does a lot of ad libbing, and director-producer Kennard.

For Kennard, the key to getting kids and adults excited about classical music is connecting it to their emotional lives -- the pain, joy, fear and hope that people have always felt.

His primary goal, he said, is "to create something where the drama of creating the music, the drama of what was in the composer's mind, the drama of the live event and the drama of the peoples' lives watching it are all linked. We want to say to people, this fantastic music is something you need as the soundtrack for your own life.''

Halvorson promised himself that if he became a successful sitcom director, he would get back to his roots in music. "To spend three weeks studying Beethoven's Third Symphony or 'The Rite of Spring' is so enriching for your soul. It's art, so it's always healing."
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Coming Wednesday: Critic Joshua Kosman reviews PBS’ “Keeping Score: MTT on Music’’ and the Web site www.keepingscore.org. article w/pics
 
Thanks for posting this, Perdita!

The description of the show in the TV listing would not have given a clue as to the nature of the show. The listed description makes it sound simply like a review of the movements in the piece.
 
We have in common that we have both attended symphonic performances which were (or will be) televised on PBS. In my case, it was a performance of the Mahler Orchestration of Beethoven's glorious Ninth. It aired, nationally I believe, a few years ago.

At the time, I lived in an apartment building that had once been very posh. By the time I lived there, however, its grandeur had waned. It still had a library of sorts with bay windows overlooking a garden and beyond that the river on which the apartment was situated. There was also a large elegantly decayed salon with an immense fireplace, an even larger faded Persian rug, an obscenely out-of-tune concert grand piano and only the slightest atmosphere of moldy plaster. At some point, the owner had decided to resize most of the apartments down to warren-like studios, one bedroom and two bedroom units—appropriate to the dignity (or lack thereof) of the plebian residency. However, there were still, puttering about, a few well-heeled old-timers who had lived in the building upwards of 30 years. One of them, an eccentric—presumably gay man, who sometimes wore a full-length artic fox fur coat and matching hat in the winter—of around 65 years was apparently a muckety-muck on the board of the symphony and several other cultural institutions about town. He’d often leave, on a small table between the elevators on the first floor, tickets to upscale events to which he’d been comped. Whenever I’d avail myself of his generosity, I’d always thank him—either in person or with a little note. (To give you some idea of the kinds of seats this gentleman would give away, I am very tall—NBA tall. When sitting in his second row center aisle seat at a performance of The Nutcracker Suite, I was able to fully extend my legs before me, just barely touching the first row seats. In any event, one evening as I returned home, I noticed an envelope on the little table. Upon inspecting the contents, I almost came on myself when I realized that I held in my hand two tickets to a performance of good old opus 125 in d minor—my absolute favorite since I’d witnessed its magic save Ringo from the jaws of a tiger and soothe the ultra-violent savagery of Little Alex, in my wee nascence.

Thank god I had a black suit. The place was crawling with glad-handing posh bastards and their fat bejeweled and brocaded wives—and there I was ensconced among society’s haves in all of my 1040-EZ-filing glory.
 
That sounds cool.

I'm looking forward to the Copland episode. I'm now have Fanfare for The Common Man echoing in my head.

My favourite Beethoven symphony is the Sixth - Pastorale.

And Tchaickovsky's all right, but I prefer Moussorsgky, especially Pictures at an Exhibition. Now Promenade is whistling between my ears.
 
Quilty, thanks for writing that. You've got a very interesting story there. I am often amazed at these types of personal tales on the AH and wish they'd get written up, whether fictionalized or eroticized.

My first Die Walkure was as the guest of a not quite filthy rich man (friend of a friend). Orchestra, second row center. Gwynneth Jones was Brunnhilde. They used real fire at the end for her ring and I felt the flames on my cheeks. It's the end of the long opera so I can only imagine how sweat soaked the orchestra was. I left the opera a wreck, literally broke down in sobs outside as soon as I got away from my host and the crowd.

Perdita
 
perdita said:
Quilty, thanks for writing that. You've got a very interesting story there. I am often amazed at these types of personal tales on the AH and wish they'd get written up, whether fictionalized or eroticized.

My first Die Walkure was as the guest of a not quite filthy rich man (friend of a friend). Orchestra, second row center. Gwynneth Jones was Brunnhilde. They used real fire at the end for her ring and I felt the flames on my cheeks. It's the end of the long opera so I can only imagine how sweat soaked the orchestra was. I left the opera a wreck, literally broke down in sobs outside as soon as I got away from my host and the crowd.

Perdita

You weren't kidding when you referred to yourself as a Wagnerite.

When I left the performance that I mentioned above, I was walking down the street amid the ebullient throng of rich people waiting for their cars and greedy valets scurring about obsequiously. I thought to myself, in a moment I'll be the only one still walking. A few minutes later, after having walked through a neighbourhood which could be aptly described as post-apocalyptic, I tucked my symphony programme into my coat and boarded the bus.
 
Clare Quilty said:
You weren't kidding when you referred to yourself as a Wagnerite.
Q., you have no idea. But I do not call him The Master, I think Cosima was a sicko, and I quit the No. Cal. Wagner Society after never meeting anyone under 65 or non-white and without guttural accents. Really.

At the very end of a Ring cycle I only want to start again with the first chord of Das Rhinegold. (I also want to die in Venice.)

Perdita
 
Did anyone see the program on Wed.? I was gratified and learned quite a bit. I love Tchaikovsky's ballet and opera music, but am not familiar with the rest. I hope to hear the 4th symphony live someday (sorry I missed it here). It was also nice for me to see all those familiar faces (there's a player who looks like a stand-in for Karl Marx), and to hear some of them speak.

Irish drum skins, who would have thought.

Perdita
 
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