by jon bosworth jaxvillain@yahoo.com
Does it make me base and pedestrian when a live performance by the Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra reminds me of a Tom & Jerry cartoon? At times I couldn’t get the cartoon images out of my mind’s eye. I was trying to be sophisticated. Some of the symphony-goers around me closed their eyes and deeply contemplated the notes being played without the distraction of other audience members or the conductor’s gestures four beats ahead of the music, but when I tried all I could see was Tom and Jerry in their Western duds, chasing each other around.
The symphony seems like a drastically new and vibrant mission to me each time EU sends me to review a performance. Usually I sit in one of the balcony seats, because I enjoy watching the individual players step out of the cascading rhythm of bows and shoulders as the sections of music diverge and collide. From this vantage-point. The symphony is more than an aural experience, it has a visual element. It is an enormous dance of unintentional choreography that perfectly matches the music, obviously, since it is solely the creation of this complex music that causes the actual movement of the performers during any musical movement.
This time our seats were on the floor, so I learned to watch the symphony in a new way. And I learned to devote more attention to the tonality of the performance. We were also right next to a seated volunteer usher who was incredibly excited about the music, but persistent about the correct times to clap. Early in the second movement, Serenade, from Plato’s Symposium, composed by New York’s own Leonard Bernstein, featuring Israeli transplanted, Ukrainian violinist Vadim Gluzman, soloing in front of the Fabio Machetti-conducted Jacksonville Symphony.
His deep grasp of the energy latent in each piece was matched by his apparent enthusiasm while perfectly executing each note, nuanced and sculpted, as he teetered and pitched before the musicians in the symphony. He would turn, while frenetically engrossed in the solo, and look to the symphony as they seemed to play orchestral responses to his solo. It was a dynamic conversation with no words spoken.
Everyone burst into applause after the fourth movement, Agathon, and we eagerly joined them, clapping polite golf claps when the urge was to yelp and belt out a painfully loud clap. He should know how amazing we think he is! But the usher did not want the rules broken and so she waved and motioned for us to stop clapping. Leaving us sitting there watching everyone else in the auditorium clapping appreciatively, while we sat with our hands in our laps as though it wasn’t good enough for us.
My mother insists that the inappropriate applause is a good thing, it shows that a new, younger audience is filling in seats, and that means the JSO has new blood and culture in this city. Personally, I would rather impulsively applaud when something moves me (as long as it is not over a piece in progress) then memorize a set of stodgy old rules. On the other hand, the sophistication of the symphony is part of what makes it the tradition it is, so maybe we shouldn’t Happy Gillmore it.
Vadim Gluzman played his 1690 Stradivarius, on extended loan to him from the Stradivari Society of Chicago, with a mastery that I couldn’t even fathom. This was old world skill. Mr. Gluzman not only intricately understands his craft, he is intimately aware of the entire composition within the piece he is performing. Having studied under many of the world’s finest virtuoso’s, he has earned a place among world-class musicians that is impossible to comprehend until you hear him.
While the American media parades young hipster violinists, such as Joshua Bell, before us to provide a new spin on an ancient craft, we can look at a performer such as Mr. Guzman and appreciate the value of a lifelong pursuit of mastery, and a sort of mastery that transcends concert halls and fits into a larger, timeless category. And yet, in spite of this transcendence, the piece was wrought with identifiable country-Western, almost bluegrass, tones and sensibilities. That is to say that this amazing classical player was still able to bust out an almost fiddle style amidst all of the complexity of this symphony.
Which perfectly matched the theme of the overall performance. Featuring three pieces by three American composers, the opening piece Bright Blue Music was composed by Michael Torke, a Midwesterner, and the final piece was The Grand Canyon Suite by Ferde Grofe`, a Californian when he passed, so the presence of a Western theme presided. The Grand Canyon Suite is the piece that made me feel pedestrian. I certainly don’t mean to berate either the work or the musicians who performed it, obviously they executed it at least as well as whichever orchestra recorded the piece that the Tom & Jerry cartoon used. Again, my mother comes to my defense in this concern. She always let me watch Looney Tunes and Tom & Jerry. She said she didn’t mind the exaggerated violence, as long as it was exposing me to Brahms and Tchaikovsky.
The Grand Canyon Suite articulately painted five scenes for the listener that was not wracked with Tom & Jerry guilt. The opening movement was Sunrise. This piece eeked in gently and lead to The Painted Desert, which was a jovial piece with a light spirit. From the desert we enjoy a frolicking gallop On the Trail, then on to the gentle but foreboding Sunset. The piece concluded with the dramatic and explosive piece called Cloudburst, which presented a violent thunderstorm complete with wind and lightening, but every dramatic moment was told in music.
As usual, the Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra plays so perfectly that you leave without a doubt in your mind about the quality of the show that you observed. The JSO is still the best buy for live music in town, because they are not only professional, showcasing their ability to perform with world-class talent, they are also gracious and patient with those of us just ignorant enough to clap when we feel it, but still interested enough in a great show to attend.
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