Nimble Tread

In Transit

I've been hither and yon these last couple of weeks, and will be for the next couple of weeks as well, so my apologies for the sporadic posting here at NT.  I did manage to make it to Alexander Fiseisky's organ recital at Westminster Abbey the other day though, and I'm glad I did, because it was a rip-roaring sort of good time.  The standouts amongst what he played were Mendelssohn's exquisite Sonata VI in D minor and Franck's  Grande Pièce Symphonique, both of which are deeply varied pieces that, when played on the Abbey's booming organ,  set your spleen rattling around in its housing.  The concert marked the end of the 2007 Summer Organ Festival, but there's no cause for concern as Westminster Abbey will continue with its weekly Sunday afternoon organ recitals, which you can find out about here. 
I'm off to New York this afternoon, but will be passing through Vermont, Montreal, the Berkshires, and possibly Boston before making my way back to Manhattan and then home to London.   I plan on doing some posting from the States -- particularly as I have every intention of hearing some good music -- but my regular blogging will continue when I get back to the UK.  Hope everyone enjoys the rest of the summer...

Solitude

This may be the longest I've gone without sitting in an audience since moving to London, and I've been making the most of my break by listening to cds in solitary splendour.  My listening habits have become a bit reckless these days, and I've learnt to enjoy the mischievous thrill that comes with skipping movements I don't like or cutting off a tenor mid-swell in order to indulge my musical caprices.   The selection's been eclectic, and has ranged from Rostropovich playing Shostakovich's Cello Concerto No. 1to Saschko Gawriloff giving the business to Ligeti's impossibly difficult Concerto for Violin and Orchestra.   I've also spent a lot of time with Rachel Podger's recording of Bach's Sonatas and Partitas, which I think she plays better than anyone around today, and Osvaldo Golijov's Ayre, which still astounds me with the scope of its offerings. 
I find that there are certain aspects of listening to music while alone in a room that can't be found in a concert hall, most notably the feeling that you're practically playing the tunes yourself.  Live performances are full of stimulations and uncertainties, all of which can be very exciting, but they can also impact one's ability to listen to what's being played.  And that's not necessarily a bad thing.  In fact, these factors can generate singular experiences that are far more impressive than anything imprinted on a recording you know will be free from calamity.  The impulse a musician feels to record a piece of music exists in tandem with the urge the collector feels to purchase the resulting cd: it's an attempt to make tangible what is in its natural form a fleeting and abstract entity.  Through recording, a musician can establish an historical account of a performance that would otherwise only exist in time and memory.  From a listener's standpoint, the result is a document that can be contemplated at leisure, free from the temporal pressures of live listening, and consistent from one hearing to the next.  While many recordings -- particularly those made within the last two decades -- play it a bit safe, it's their very existence that allows the musicians who created them to push the envelope when on stage.  Not everyone chooses to -- or for that matter, can -- do it, but when it happens that a performer tiptoes on a knife edge, the experience of observing the risk is remarkable.  That said, which is more in keeping with what the performer wants to communicate: the thoughtful permanence of a recording or the flickering excitement of a live concert?  You've got me there.