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Whoaaa.
It was slightly surreal this evening at Jones Hall, after rushing out of a three-hour staging rehearsal at Shepherd. Flor, with his backbreaking intensity, ran us through all of Carmina with only a few spot-checks, and it may have been the best time I've ever had onstage. I can't wait for tomorrow night's performance. The baritone adds a lot to the fun. He's committed to every word he sings, and makes the meanings clear, inviting the audience in on the joke: the thousand-year-old poetry was written by human beings, and they had our same drives, humor, and capacity for feeling. He reminds me why opera is a worthwhile art, and this is a mere concert performance of a secular oratorio.
The experience from among the chorus in Carmina was exceptional enough, but then we came back from the pause and started the Chichester Psalms. I duly went to my assigned mid-chorus seat with the rest of the quartet, but it turns out Flor wants us out front. The harps (never an agreeable pair in this symphony) objected to the impromptu setup, as they couldn't see, but Flor promised it'd be okay by tomorrow. I stood, at various times, directly to Flor's right in front of the violins, in the divide between the brass and the cellos (my accustomed place as an instrumentalist, and personally my favorite balance in the hall), and beside the countertenor among the violas. There were times when I could hardly breathe for awe of Bernstein's genius and Flor's interpretation.
Trying to roll with the pros at their best, with this, my favorite rep, is indescribably rewarding. Of course there were moments when I was disappointed with myself, but I never crumpled or prevaricated, just overcame and improved the next try. There were magnets holding the wild horses in my soul to a concentrated field around the conductor, and he was so close! I'd say I flailed internally, but it was more purposeful and directed. Maybe I contained one long continuous squee all night, and sublimated it into the performance and an occasional unsuppressable face-splitting grin.
Certainly, I am tired now. Bryan flies in on the hour! Maybe I will see him tonight.
It was slightly surreal this evening at Jones Hall, after rushing out of a three-hour staging rehearsal at Shepherd. Flor, with his backbreaking intensity, ran us through all of Carmina with only a few spot-checks, and it may have been the best time I've ever had onstage. I can't wait for tomorrow night's performance. The baritone adds a lot to the fun. He's committed to every word he sings, and makes the meanings clear, inviting the audience in on the joke: the thousand-year-old poetry was written by human beings, and they had our same drives, humor, and capacity for feeling. He reminds me why opera is a worthwhile art, and this is a mere concert performance of a secular oratorio.
The experience from among the chorus in Carmina was exceptional enough, but then we came back from the pause and started the Chichester Psalms. I duly went to my assigned mid-chorus seat with the rest of the quartet, but it turns out Flor wants us out front. The harps (never an agreeable pair in this symphony) objected to the impromptu setup, as they couldn't see, but Flor promised it'd be okay by tomorrow. I stood, at various times, directly to Flor's right in front of the violins, in the divide between the brass and the cellos (my accustomed place as an instrumentalist, and personally my favorite balance in the hall), and beside the countertenor among the violas. There were times when I could hardly breathe for awe of Bernstein's genius and Flor's interpretation.
Trying to roll with the pros at their best, with this, my favorite rep, is indescribably rewarding. Of course there were moments when I was disappointed with myself, but I never crumpled or prevaricated, just overcame and improved the next try. There were magnets holding the wild horses in my soul to a concentrated field around the conductor, and he was so close! I'd say I flailed internally, but it was more purposeful and directed. Maybe I contained one long continuous squee all night, and sublimated it into the performance and an occasional unsuppressable face-splitting grin.
Certainly, I am tired now. Bryan flies in on the hour! Maybe I will see him tonight.