Nimble Tread

Aaaargh

I guess the word is out on the marvel that is the Royal Ballet Masterclass.  Online ticket sales for Covent Garden's Period 3 went hot at 10:00 this morning, and at 10:03, when I logged on, there was nary a Masterclass ticket to be had.  These things are like gold dust, and for good reason: the setting is amazingly intimate, the class itself nothing short of terrific, and at twelve pounds a pop, the tickets represent the best value in ballet.  I've had some of my foremost dance experiences at the Masterclasses -- which were typically held in the Linbury, but have apparently moved to the Clore Studio -- and only wish that the RB would offer more than two or three a period.  Audiences naturally go bananas for the things, and the dancers seem to enjoy the direct interaction with the public, so how about bumping the number up to, say, five, Ms. Mason?

Down South

I'm doing my best to while away the Sunday hours in Charleston, and, embarrassing as this is to admit, have settled upon YouTube as my chief ally.  I've grown particularly fond of this clip of Mstislav Rostropovich playing the Bourrée from Bach's Cello Suite #3.  It's nothing if not charming, and I hope you all enjoy it.  Believe me when I tell you that I hope to post an entry of substance in the near future.

Free Advice

A word to the wise: when your taxi driver hunches over a magnifying lens to find where you need to go on a map, switch cabs.  This holds true even if he's listening to a radio programme about ventriloquists and you're intrigued by the fact that when presented via the medium of radio, the ventriloquist's art is reduced to what sounds like a guy just talking.

Buzzcuts and Bluehairs

I made the mistake of going to Salle Wilfrid-Pelletier at 10:30 this morning to hear that Montreal Symphony Orchestra  play Tchaikovsky's fifth.  Strange time, right?  Well, I've learned that strange times beget horrible audiences. 

I was surrounded by a swarm of high schoolers who chomped on candy, whispered little secrets, and shifted restlessly in their seats during the whole of the concert.  In the kids' defense, the programme -- which also included Respighi's The Fountains of Rome and Tomasi's Trumpet Concerto -- was two hours long and presented without an intermission.  Combine that with the early start time, and you get a wonderful recipe for heavy eyelids.  Don't believe me?  Ask the scores of Golden Agers in situ how much of Fontana di Villa Medici, al tramonto they caught.  The orchestra played terrifically, but with all the rustles and snores, one would have been better off listening to the music on a phonograph at the bus station.

Gryphon Romance

It's been raining so much lately that I've put some thought into taking my cubit measurer to Home Depot and buying a stock of ark-building supplies.  The Sun's been as bashful as a lovesick schoolgirl, and the city's begun to look positively grey, a state that will wear you down pretty fast if you're not careful.  Anyone will tell you that the sensible thing to do is find a form of indoor entertainment, something that will not only shelter you from the misty blight of the outdoors, but will also restore your spirits to pre-deluge levels.  Judging by numbers alone -- which seem to be forever increasing -- strip clubs are the amusement purveyors of choice in Montreal.  Pleasant as I'm sure it must be to watch spray-tanned, false-appendaged, possibly diseased ladies swivel around a pole like Cirque du Soleil auditioners, I'm willing to forego the experience in favour of a visit to the markedly less seedy but not entirely un-louche Place-des-Arts.

The Gryphon Trio was set to play there on Tuesday, and I made my way downtown eager to hear what they would do with Schubert.  Unfortunately, owing to some glitch in advertising,  I thought they were going to play his Bb trio Op. 99, which I love, when in fact they planned on playing his Eb trio, Op.100, which presumably they love, and is somewhat more popular.  They're both great pieces of music, but that's little consolation to someone who's had his heart set on hearing one thing and surprised at the last minute with a lesser substitute.  Fortunately, I had my iPod with me, and could therefore content myself with listening to the Beaux Arts Trio playing Op.99 while the Gryphons played Op.100.  Ha ha!  Kidding of course, but I won't deny that the thought had occurred to me.

The band -- comprised of Annalee Patipatanakoon on violin, Roman Borys on cello, and Jamie Parker on piano -- opened the programme with Mozart's trio in E major K. 542, a charming little piece that worked well until midway through the second movement when the music moves to minor and, in the Gryphon's intepretation, sixty years into the future.  Why Patipatanakoon decided to play Mozart like Dvořák wasn't entirely clear; what was clear, however, was that unlike some other attempts at musical anachronism -- Vladimir Horowitz playing Chopin as if it were Scriabin comes to mind -- it didn't work.  Nor did the group's stab at Schostakovich's -- spelled Chostakovich here in Quebec -- Trio n. 1 Op. 8.  They had no trouble with the piece's Brahmsian sections, but missed capturing the bite of the more typically Shostakovichian passages, and the performance suffered for it. 

The good news was that after a couple of attempts at infusing Romanticism into the two birthday boys' music, the Trio had a chance to take on the genuine article.  Though I obviously prefer Schubert's Bb trio to his Eb, I fully enjoyed the Gryphon's playing of the piece, and would even go so far as to say it saved the night.  They played in terrific accord and imparted to the music a palpable sense of life that was great to experience.  The Trio played the sparkling fourth movement particularly well, and with a razor's edge run at the final cadence, wiped away the black mark of their earlier sins. 

On my way home I spent some time wondering which would be preferable: a performer who plays consistently passable concerts or one who sputters and coughs most of the time but every once in a while turns out a gem.  It was a short trip back -- not nearly long enough to give the matter just consideration -- but I'm leaning towards the latter.