First hearings in the concert hall: Larsen's Parachute Dances

Libby Larsen is a great advocate of the "acoustic experience" that comes from a performance in the concert hall. At the same time, she celebrates the independence we now have from that four-wall access to music, which we have developed in the historical progress from radio, through phonograph, television, car stereo, and now via computer access.

Generally, I prefer the accessibility of iTunes and other online sources, since the programming is of my choice, usually free of interpretation by announcers and programmers. I recognize the trade-offs I make when I don the earbuds:

• The sonic range is limited by the device—by even the best headphones.
• Outside noise can affect the overall result—especialy with earbuds.
• Programming is still limited by the CDs and downloads that I've purchased—or taken as a loan from the public library—and by the limitations of the search algorithms installed in Amazon.com, iTunes' Ping, and other services related to what I purchase or listen to while online.

But I do indeed go to the concert hall when that is the only venue for a specific piece. Such was the case yesterday for a first hearing of Ms. Larsen's "Overture: Parachute Dances" as performed by the Dayton Philharmonic Orchestra. (The DPO concert will be broadcast and webcast on WDPR on 2011.04.02 (2 April, 2011) at 10:00 a.m., Eastern time.) It was also the case earlier in the day for a new interpretation of John Adams' Nixon in China, as conducted by the composer in a worldwide broadcast of the Metropolitan Opera in HD.

Reporting a first hearing from the concert hall has its disadvantages.

• The performance and music must last in the memory and surpass the memories of other music heard in the same concert. The memory is truly dependent on the attitudes that inform the programmer, since often better memory occurs with either a fresh mind or with the latest impressions. Thus, the first and last pieces in a program have special prominence.
• Generally a concert listener is less aware of how long a new piece is. This lack of time sense means the listener can't use time to understand the piece and make it coherent  through gauging the present moment in comparison to the beginning and end. Thus, the logical unifying of sound through motif, simultaneity, similarity, and contrast becomes subservient to the moment and to what awareness the listener can muster to retain each moment that occurred before.
• The listening location in the hall affects aspects of the balance between each performer. Although the better halls tend to produce a good blend of all the instruments for most seats, especially so for those in the middle of the orchestra and fronts of the balconies, the experience of each listener is different.
• Each performance suffers from—and some would say benefits from—the John Cage effect, where the whole experience consists of all the sounds in the venue, including the music made, the rustle of pages turned by the performers, and the coughs and crackling of candy wrappers from the seat occupants next to you.
• Finally, the perception of a performance is informed by the audience as a whole. Tepid or enthusiastic applause builds and supports an overall consensus of the effect of a piece.

With all that in mind, and after a half day's settling in, I found the new work by Larsen exciting and enticing enough for acquiring a CD of the work.

The memory of "Overture: Parachute Dances" surpasses the hearings of the two later, larger parts of the program, Mozart's Symphony #39 and Strauss' "Ein Heldenleben." Though the length, breadth, and depth of Heldenleben might work against the memory of a lesser piece, Parachute Dancing holds its own indeed. The textures include polyphonic motif treatment—jumping from violins to cellos to brass and woodwinds, subtle and sometimes surprising utterances from a large percussion section—including superb moments for xylophone, and expanded timbres from the strings to include pizzicati and snapping the strings to the fingerboard. The piece lasts 6 minutes, give or take a bit, and every moment hangs on what has come before and informs later moments as they build toward culmination. I highly recommend buying one of the recorded performances of Parachute Dances, which is packaged as one of four works by Larsen or one of seven pieces by different composers.


For thoughts on Nixon in China,
The Metropolitan Opera performace of of John Adams' 1987 Nixon in China, was a mixture of powerful and past-prime performance. Minor conceptual problems made for a few weird staging choices as well. Nonetheless, reshuffling of the sound mix resulted in a new understanding of the third act.


The performers:
Conductor: John Adams
Chian Ch'ing: Kathleen Kim
Pat Nixon: Janis Kelly
Mao Tse-tung: Robert Brubaker
Chou En-lai: Russell Braun
Richard Nixon: James Maddalena
Henry Kissinger: Richard Paul Fink

The production team:
Production: Peter Sellars
Set Designer: Adrianne Lobel
Costume Designer: Dunya Ramicova
Lighting Designer: James F. Ingalls
Choreographer: Mark Morris
Sound Designer: Mark Grey

The show stealer was Kathleen Kim (Madame Mao, Chian Ch'ing) whose bravura presence in acts two and three was enthralling and electrifying. Second, but by a matter of only hundredths of a percent, was Janis Kelly (Pat Nixon), whose characterization was subtle, clarifying, and emotionally naked. Both Robert Brubaker (Mao Tse-Tung) and Russell Braun (Chou En-lai) were equally adept at showing weakened but once-powerful men hampered by the physical body. Richard Paul Fink (Henry Kissinger) brought intellect and in-character humor to his portrayal of the intellectual force behind the Nixon presidency. Though the acting of James Maddelena (Richard Nixon) was a top-notch character study of the president, the voice was unfortunately not in prime form, especially as he continued through acts two and three.

This production was originally created by English National Opera, though its expression was enlarged to match the larger performance space that the Met offers. It seems though that Peter Sellars has allowed some cracks to appear in his renowned command of stagecraft. (I internally objected when Air Force One descended from the flys instead of taxiing from the wings; I quietly gasped when the jet door opened to reveal the scrim and outlined winter trees behind the fuselage before Mr. and Mrs. Nixon exited to the gangway; I questioned again the exit of the fuselage into the flys when—moments afterward—the main curtain descended to allow an inter-scene performed before the curtain; then in the midst of act three was a long silence with a closed curtain.) Update: the Los Angeles Times review of the broadcast production cites Sellars' desire to avoid the phallic implications of the fuselage rolling onto the stage.

The performance—or perhaps even the orchestration—of act three was reworked to clarify the two allusions to Wagner's Ring and to strengthen the author's and composer's assessment that these six characters have found their own Götterdämmerunge by the final, repeatedly rising motif of the opera.