Note: this week, our Wednesday blogger Jordan Oakes recaps "Blogger's Night" at the Saint Louis Symphony. The program was part of the "Ancient Paths, Modern Voices" festival at Carnegie Hall, which celebrates Chinese culture; this program debuted in St. Louis before traveling to New York. The program included Stravinsky's Song of the Nightingale, Bartok's The Miraculous Mandarin Suite as well as works by two contemporary Chinese composers, Tan Dun's Water Concerto, and Bright Sheng's Colors of Crimson. (You may know Dun's work; he received an Academy Award for his score to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.) Maestro David Robertson conducted, and, as you shall see, percussionist Colin Currie made a particularly spectacular appearance as guest artist.
The analogy that suggests reviewing music is like dancing about architecture takes on a particular resonance when it comes to Powell Hall. Long before a single note of symphony was uttered, the building’s patulous interior comprised in itself a sort of architectural crescendo. And as I looked around, I observed the kind of ticket-holders I’d always imagined: well-dressed – though not formally – and more often than not, gray-haired and professorial. I don’t want to give the impression that my attending Powell Hall entailed a sort of “Jethro Goes to the Symphony” – I’d been here before – but I felt a bit out of my element. You see, normally on Friday nights I’m one to kick it with a B-movie in the living room. So, how does one conduct himself at the Symphony? You could feel the audience warming up for excitement – this was the wine-and-eyeglass equivalent of a Van Halen concert. And on this so-designated “bloggers’ night,” the Symphony did pretty much everything but play it straight. It was comforting to find not only quirkiness but new aural thrills in what I feared could be music-by-numbers. And it came in the form of percussionist Colin Currie.
There’s a scene in a movie called Green Card when Gerard Depardieu is sitting at a piano and is put on the spot to tickle the ivories for a society gathering. Unfortunately, his character wasn’t a pianist. Cornered in a drawing room, Depardieu proceeded to bang out something tuneless and terrible. Thanks strictly to determination – make that desperation – his charade passed muster as a kind of harsh avant-garde. When the piece ended – which was as soon as he could pretend it was over – Depardieu waited nervously for a reaction. The room was quiet. The spectators eyed one other cluelessly, trying to reach an instant consensus. Did they love it or hate it? They applauded. Depardieu stood up and bowed. But now he had to play something else. Uneasily, he sat back down. He proceeded to bang out something beautiful and well-rehearsed – real music this time. In truth, he was a virtuoso, and the joke was not only on the room but the entire movie audience.
This is how I viewed Currie. He stood behind (and in-between) what resembled a couple of gigantic champagne glasses. Each had been filled with what appeared to be an equal amount of water. First, Currie kind of swished his fingers. Next, he lifted handfuls of the gently-miked aqua and tossed it strategically back into the bowls. What began like a goldfish grab evolved into an advanced percussive scheme, with patterns of swimming rhythms and the most artful use of water since Busby Berkeley. The line between dripping and riffing seemed to melt away; every sound was being literally measured in the hands of a master. And when Currie brought in other instruments, occasionally appearing more like a magician than a percussionist, the magic of his gift started to amaze. The orchestra contributed just enough to add support and favor Currie. I’d attempt to describe more of what I saw – but when it comes to dancing about architecture, I have two left feet.
Jordan Oakes is a local journalist who has written for publications such as St. Louis Magazine and the Christian Science Monitor. He has strong opinions that begin to atrophy if he doesn't exercise his right to express them. Tune in every Wednesday for another installment of Mediatribe - and if you missed last week's post, click here.
