I always knew it was coming; I mean, after all, the internet is too good to be true. And by true, I mean free. It seems as though a few giant telecommunication corporations have been looking into regulating sites on the internet to attract different customers as well as charge their customers money to access different sites. Because, after all, the CEOs of most of these companies have been eyeing that second multi-million dollar yacht for quite some time now, and well, who are we to restrict them from having the freedom to follow their dreams?
I respect Google in so many ways, especially in the way their CEO Eric Schmidt stood up for general interests at a conference with major telecommunication corporations just days ago. Read the article here.
Corporations are of course a large part of capitalism, and well, restricting the internet from non-paying perusers seems quite the opposite. Oh no, how UN-AMERICAN!
Anyway, save the internet. http://www.savetheinternet.com
Friday, August 24, 2007
Saturday, August 11, 2007
God Save the Composer.
There are plenty of aspects of English culture that people admire: tea time, rugby, and David Beckham are just three things that come to mind. Mention in front of many classical musicians the name "William Walton", however, and you are bound to invoke cries of disgust and complaints about having to play one of his dreadful symphonies or having been within earshot of his Viola Concerto. My favoring of Walton is not on account of my being a violist or of my British ancestry (I'm not going to say it doesn't help, however), but due to my admiration of his creative genius as well as his ability to incorporate all the avant-garde and traditional tonal systems of the time into all of his works.
The year was 1922 and anything was possible. On the edge of an emerging modern world, Walton, an Oxford dropout, had joined forces with Siegfried Sassoon and siblings Sacheverall, Osbert, and Edith Sitwell, all revolutionary literary artists. Assocations with these folk led him to introductions to social circles including T.S. Eliot, compelled him to travel to Italy, and exposed him to such cultural phenomena of the day as American jazz and Diaghilev ballets.
Several artistic movements were flourishing at this point in time, and through his immersion in contemporary art Walton was able to incorporate all he saw into his works. Dadaism, born in Switzerland during World War I, was at its peak just as Walton was exploring the cultural world around him. Arnold Schoenberg had been sharpening his tonal (or atonal, for that matter) language at the time, although it would be decades later that his work would formally be noted as "serialism". (Leave it up to a triskaidekaphobic man to devise a system of composition that leads only up to twelve tones, is what I always say.) Paul Hindemith (who filled in for Lionel Tertis at the last minute to premiere Walton's Viola Concerto) had always been an expressionistic composer, but by the 1920s was developing a complex contrapuntal system that, by the 1930s, had led him to publish a book on his theories, The Craft of Musical Composition. In his music theory he ranked intervals on a basis of consonance to dissonance, applied in his compositions by using untraditional key signatures and a musical language that sounded anything but tonal. The expressionist movement by this time had been waning, yet its extremity and morbidity still held a voice within high art. Impressionism had also left its mark, and this being England, there was a certain fantasia-like brand that had impressed itself upon the composers of the era, not discluding Walton himself.
The beauty of Walton was that he settled not on one schools of art and music, but sought to incorporate several of them into his works. He arranged jazz scores in the 1920s before composing the work that catapulted him into fame, the Viola Concerto of 1929. Already this work demonstrated Walton's ability to utilize so many artistic and musical ideas of the day. Written without a key signature, the work begins ambiguously using the interval of half-steps, sounding almost like resolutions. The viola enters with a melody that can be identified by A minor only by the first few notes, swiftly modulating into several other keys with the aid of one pivotal note. The orchestration is thick and beautiful, and there is a distinctive use of sixths, mostly minor, throughout the solo viola part. Leaps of minor sevenths and ninths are also favored in the orchestra part, with sudden bursts of a comforting tonal melodic passage. When performed skillfully, the piece is able to convey a sense of nostalgia, of irony, and of excitement that eludes many other compositions of the day.
Symphony No.2 is also a fascinating work to analyze. As well as having absorbed contemporary, avant-garde artistic movements, Walton has now expanded his tonal language to fit Elgar's lush melodic passages, a hallmark of English composition. We also hear a bit of Mahler in his go-for-broke, thick orchestrations. It is possible that this work can evoke any number of things, and like Mahler takes the listener on a stream-of-conscious emotional journey. Works like this are certainly reflective of contemporary literary colleagues in his part of the world as well; I'm sure James Joyce would readily approve the sparkling harp and string passages juxtaposed by calm winds and intense, pounding brass and percussion.
Walton was a very successful composer in his day and won the support of many notable artists. He did film work (such as in films featuring the famed Shakespearean actor Sir Lawrence Olivier in Henry V, Hamlet, and Richard III), composed a piece for the coronation of King George VI (the march Crown Imperial), and was able to expand the concerto repertoire. Jascha Heifetz premiered the violin concerto, and later toward the end of Walton's life, Gregor Piatigorsky premiered his cello concerto. He also composed opera, such as Troilus and Cressida, which was commissioned by the BBC in 1947. He was even supported by his old friend Sassoon's own patron, the famed Lord Berners.
He enjoyed a deserved amount of success during his lifetime, so why the apprehension in programming or studying his works now? Perhaps it is the difficulty and senselessness of the individual parts within the orchestra that repels young professionals. There is nothing rewarding in their parts; the notes are hard and the musical concepts are even harder. Stand back from the rest of the orchestra and listen, however, and you are likely to be blown away at how many intricacies in the score are able to benefit the whole of the orchestra.
What about conductors, then? To conquer Walton's scores would be a great accomplishment. Firstly the manner in which these pieces are composed can be difficult to read; the page is littered with changes of meter and, like in impressionistic music, every musical nuance is dictated to a scrutinizing level. It is not more difficult than any of the Second Viennese School compositions, which seem to be more readily favored in concert halls than English music in general, however; but perhaps in our culture there is so much favoring of German music that afterward there is only room for a little French or Russian music.
At any rate, Walton was an exceptional talent whose musical work today is highly misunderstood and underrated. In spite of all the complexities in his works, they are still reminiscent of a regal, maritime Great Britain; perhaps someday Walton will join the ranks of such great English cultural movements as scones or the Spice Girls.
The year was 1922 and anything was possible. On the edge of an emerging modern world, Walton, an Oxford dropout, had joined forces with Siegfried Sassoon and siblings Sacheverall, Osbert, and Edith Sitwell, all revolutionary literary artists. Assocations with these folk led him to introductions to social circles including T.S. Eliot, compelled him to travel to Italy, and exposed him to such cultural phenomena of the day as American jazz and Diaghilev ballets.
Several artistic movements were flourishing at this point in time, and through his immersion in contemporary art Walton was able to incorporate all he saw into his works. Dadaism, born in Switzerland during World War I, was at its peak just as Walton was exploring the cultural world around him. Arnold Schoenberg had been sharpening his tonal (or atonal, for that matter) language at the time, although it would be decades later that his work would formally be noted as "serialism". (Leave it up to a triskaidekaphobic man to devise a system of composition that leads only up to twelve tones, is what I always say.) Paul Hindemith (who filled in for Lionel Tertis at the last minute to premiere Walton's Viola Concerto) had always been an expressionistic composer, but by the 1920s was developing a complex contrapuntal system that, by the 1930s, had led him to publish a book on his theories, The Craft of Musical Composition. In his music theory he ranked intervals on a basis of consonance to dissonance, applied in his compositions by using untraditional key signatures and a musical language that sounded anything but tonal. The expressionist movement by this time had been waning, yet its extremity and morbidity still held a voice within high art. Impressionism had also left its mark, and this being England, there was a certain fantasia-like brand that had impressed itself upon the composers of the era, not discluding Walton himself.
The beauty of Walton was that he settled not on one schools of art and music, but sought to incorporate several of them into his works. He arranged jazz scores in the 1920s before composing the work that catapulted him into fame, the Viola Concerto of 1929. Already this work demonstrated Walton's ability to utilize so many artistic and musical ideas of the day. Written without a key signature, the work begins ambiguously using the interval of half-steps, sounding almost like resolutions. The viola enters with a melody that can be identified by A minor only by the first few notes, swiftly modulating into several other keys with the aid of one pivotal note. The orchestration is thick and beautiful, and there is a distinctive use of sixths, mostly minor, throughout the solo viola part. Leaps of minor sevenths and ninths are also favored in the orchestra part, with sudden bursts of a comforting tonal melodic passage. When performed skillfully, the piece is able to convey a sense of nostalgia, of irony, and of excitement that eludes many other compositions of the day.
Symphony No.2 is also a fascinating work to analyze. As well as having absorbed contemporary, avant-garde artistic movements, Walton has now expanded his tonal language to fit Elgar's lush melodic passages, a hallmark of English composition. We also hear a bit of Mahler in his go-for-broke, thick orchestrations. It is possible that this work can evoke any number of things, and like Mahler takes the listener on a stream-of-conscious emotional journey. Works like this are certainly reflective of contemporary literary colleagues in his part of the world as well; I'm sure James Joyce would readily approve the sparkling harp and string passages juxtaposed by calm winds and intense, pounding brass and percussion.
Walton was a very successful composer in his day and won the support of many notable artists. He did film work (such as in films featuring the famed Shakespearean actor Sir Lawrence Olivier in Henry V, Hamlet, and Richard III), composed a piece for the coronation of King George VI (the march Crown Imperial), and was able to expand the concerto repertoire. Jascha Heifetz premiered the violin concerto, and later toward the end of Walton's life, Gregor Piatigorsky premiered his cello concerto. He also composed opera, such as Troilus and Cressida, which was commissioned by the BBC in 1947. He was even supported by his old friend Sassoon's own patron, the famed Lord Berners.
He enjoyed a deserved amount of success during his lifetime, so why the apprehension in programming or studying his works now? Perhaps it is the difficulty and senselessness of the individual parts within the orchestra that repels young professionals. There is nothing rewarding in their parts; the notes are hard and the musical concepts are even harder. Stand back from the rest of the orchestra and listen, however, and you are likely to be blown away at how many intricacies in the score are able to benefit the whole of the orchestra.
What about conductors, then? To conquer Walton's scores would be a great accomplishment. Firstly the manner in which these pieces are composed can be difficult to read; the page is littered with changes of meter and, like in impressionistic music, every musical nuance is dictated to a scrutinizing level. It is not more difficult than any of the Second Viennese School compositions, which seem to be more readily favored in concert halls than English music in general, however; but perhaps in our culture there is so much favoring of German music that afterward there is only room for a little French or Russian music.
At any rate, Walton was an exceptional talent whose musical work today is highly misunderstood and underrated. In spite of all the complexities in his works, they are still reminiscent of a regal, maritime Great Britain; perhaps someday Walton will join the ranks of such great English cultural movements as scones or the Spice Girls.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Out of senseless murders come lessons about the value of family and loved ones.
It is rare in my household to find magazines on the coffee table, so when I spotted this week's issue of People on the round glass table in my living room, I thought there must be a significant article in it that made somebody from my family in line at the grocery store pick it out amidst all the other magazines and impulse items. It turns out, there was. On the very front page is a photograph of a happy family, two daughters and their parents, dressed for what appears to be some sort of convention or special conference. Above the picture, large yellow letters have formed the words, "EVERY FAMILY'S NIGHTMARE."
All right, you have my attention, People magazine.
After consulting the table of contents, I quickly flipped to page 58. I observed the large photograph of a young fireman wandering through the shrubbery outside of a suburban home, the words "HORROR IN THE NIGHT" glowing from the page in white and yellow lettering. The presentation of the title was a bit tacky, I thought, but it nonetheless disspelled the truth of what happened in that Connecticut home only nights ago. One hapless summer afternoon in Connecticut, two white male convicts out on parole observed in a grocery store parking lot three women---a mother and two daughters---unloading groceries into a white Mercedes. The two men followed the Mercedes to its home, which the magazine describes as "a comfortable four bedroom house," a place that these men thought would be easy enough to burglarize. Later that night, after a pasta dinner and Harry Potter readings, with the family nestled asleep, the men entered through an open cellar door and, upon entering the house, proceeded to terrorize the family. They tied up the father and led him downstairs, away from his screaming wife and daughters, who were each either raped and/or sexually assaulted. At one point the wife was allowed to leave only to obtain $15,000 for the burglars at the bank to persuade them to leave. Apparently this was a 24-hour bank because she was able to speak to a teller, to whom she gave a note explaining the situation and asked that they notify the police.
Although their response was immediate, had the police arrived only minutes earlier, they would've been able to save the mother, who had been strangled to death, and her two daughers, who had died of smoke inhalation after the perpetrators had doused the home in gasoline and set it on fire to hide evidence. The father had managed to free his hands and escape from the cellar, hopping as his ankles were bound together, to meet the scene of police cars and fire trucks outside of the house he worked so hard to maintain. The two convincts had been apprehended as the police arrived just as they were fleeing the scene.
People examines the issue and raises the question, "How did this happen?" To me that's an incredibly asinine remark. Do they mean to ask, "How did this happen, these people were so rich and crimes don't happen to rich people?" Or perhaps, "How did this happen, this suburb is wealthy and only poor neighborhoods are susceptible to horrific crimes such as this?" OK, maybe those questions could've been phrased more poignantly, but I think the idea comes across. The fact is, anybody anywhere can fall victim to a number of atrocities, including cold-blooded murders. We live in a country that makes us believe our wealth and resources can shelter us, but that's simply not the case. That's why it's our duty to appreciate everything we have---family, friends, loved-ones---and, without living fearfully, realize there are injustices in the world and that nobody will live forever.
What's interesting about this family is that, fortunately, they seemed close anyway. The mother had been diagnosed with MS some years before; the children, particularly the youngest, had campaigned through walking marathons and different funds to raise awareness and money to combat her mother's disease. Being that her parents were both doctors, the eldest daughter had hoped to someday pursue medicine and lauded her father for his accomplishments.
Since the article mentioned the names of the family members and that the eldest daughter was to attend Dartmouth in the fall, I searched for her on Facebook. Her account hadn't been taken down, and it was eerie to see her photograph (she looked very beautiful) along with the words "Add ------ as a friend!" next to it. There are several groups made in her honor, including a group that represents a memorial scholarship that her high school, with the help of her father, initiated after the tragic event.
In war-torn countries I'm sure that many have learned the hard way to cherish those near and dear. In our own country, because of our comforts, I'm not sure we've entirely examined ours and each others' vulnerabilities, our mortality. Unfortunately the capture of these two sick convicts will not bring that Connecticut family back, but the events that transpired can teach us all to not take those we loved for granted, and to honor them and
enjoy moments spent together.
All right, you have my attention, People magazine.
After consulting the table of contents, I quickly flipped to page 58. I observed the large photograph of a young fireman wandering through the shrubbery outside of a suburban home, the words "HORROR IN THE NIGHT" glowing from the page in white and yellow lettering. The presentation of the title was a bit tacky, I thought, but it nonetheless disspelled the truth of what happened in that Connecticut home only nights ago. One hapless summer afternoon in Connecticut, two white male convicts out on parole observed in a grocery store parking lot three women---a mother and two daughters---unloading groceries into a white Mercedes. The two men followed the Mercedes to its home, which the magazine describes as "a comfortable four bedroom house," a place that these men thought would be easy enough to burglarize. Later that night, after a pasta dinner and Harry Potter readings, with the family nestled asleep, the men entered through an open cellar door and, upon entering the house, proceeded to terrorize the family. They tied up the father and led him downstairs, away from his screaming wife and daughters, who were each either raped and/or sexually assaulted. At one point the wife was allowed to leave only to obtain $15,000 for the burglars at the bank to persuade them to leave. Apparently this was a 24-hour bank because she was able to speak to a teller, to whom she gave a note explaining the situation and asked that they notify the police.
Although their response was immediate, had the police arrived only minutes earlier, they would've been able to save the mother, who had been strangled to death, and her two daughers, who had died of smoke inhalation after the perpetrators had doused the home in gasoline and set it on fire to hide evidence. The father had managed to free his hands and escape from the cellar, hopping as his ankles were bound together, to meet the scene of police cars and fire trucks outside of the house he worked so hard to maintain. The two convincts had been apprehended as the police arrived just as they were fleeing the scene.
People examines the issue and raises the question, "How did this happen?" To me that's an incredibly asinine remark. Do they mean to ask, "How did this happen, these people were so rich and crimes don't happen to rich people?" Or perhaps, "How did this happen, this suburb is wealthy and only poor neighborhoods are susceptible to horrific crimes such as this?" OK, maybe those questions could've been phrased more poignantly, but I think the idea comes across. The fact is, anybody anywhere can fall victim to a number of atrocities, including cold-blooded murders. We live in a country that makes us believe our wealth and resources can shelter us, but that's simply not the case. That's why it's our duty to appreciate everything we have---family, friends, loved-ones---and, without living fearfully, realize there are injustices in the world and that nobody will live forever.
What's interesting about this family is that, fortunately, they seemed close anyway. The mother had been diagnosed with MS some years before; the children, particularly the youngest, had campaigned through walking marathons and different funds to raise awareness and money to combat her mother's disease. Being that her parents were both doctors, the eldest daughter had hoped to someday pursue medicine and lauded her father for his accomplishments.
Since the article mentioned the names of the family members and that the eldest daughter was to attend Dartmouth in the fall, I searched for her on Facebook. Her account hadn't been taken down, and it was eerie to see her photograph (she looked very beautiful) along with the words "Add ------ as a friend!" next to it. There are several groups made in her honor, including a group that represents a memorial scholarship that her high school, with the help of her father, initiated after the tragic event.
In war-torn countries I'm sure that many have learned the hard way to cherish those near and dear. In our own country, because of our comforts, I'm not sure we've entirely examined ours and each others' vulnerabilities, our mortality. Unfortunately the capture of these two sick convicts will not bring that Connecticut family back, but the events that transpired can teach us all to not take those we loved for granted, and to honor them and
enjoy moments spent together.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
RIP Amazing Coffee Shop on the corner of Bleecker and MacDougal
I found out today that my most favorite coffee shop in the entire world, on the corner of Bleecker and MacDougal in the West Villagey area, has been closed down.
This coffee shop was the only impetus for me to ever travel that far downtown. I'm more accustomed to the grid-patterning of the avenues and streets in upper Manhattan; and besides, all the concert halls are uptown anyway.
This coffee shop was unlike any place I'd seen or have come across since. They treat coffee like a fine wine; the barista is more than happy to explain to you from where their beans are imported (from privately owned farms where they're organically harvested and shipped to the US, less than a week old, and must be consumed within the next few days upon arriving), how to prepare the coffee (they even give you a French press coffee maker if that's your choice method of brewing), and they make some great espresso drinks as well. If you drink their fresh coffee it's unlikely that you'll need any milk or sugar because its flavor is so fresh and palpable; it also gives you a quick, lasting, and wonderful caffeine buzz.
Too bad I can't remember the name...but perhaps somewhere, in some nether region of Manhattan, there is a coffee shop that I can call my very own Mecca.
This coffee shop was the only impetus for me to ever travel that far downtown. I'm more accustomed to the grid-patterning of the avenues and streets in upper Manhattan; and besides, all the concert halls are uptown anyway.
This coffee shop was unlike any place I'd seen or have come across since. They treat coffee like a fine wine; the barista is more than happy to explain to you from where their beans are imported (from privately owned farms where they're organically harvested and shipped to the US, less than a week old, and must be consumed within the next few days upon arriving), how to prepare the coffee (they even give you a French press coffee maker if that's your choice method of brewing), and they make some great espresso drinks as well. If you drink their fresh coffee it's unlikely that you'll need any milk or sugar because its flavor is so fresh and palpable; it also gives you a quick, lasting, and wonderful caffeine buzz.
Too bad I can't remember the name...but perhaps somewhere, in some nether region of Manhattan, there is a coffee shop that I can call my very own Mecca.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Elitism Challenged: How to judge classical musicians?
If it's one thing I don't like, it's gimmicky classical musicians. What prompts talented instrumentalists with otherwise great musical integrity to record a DVD of the Vivaldi Four Seasons wearing sunglasses, or pick up the viola to show how versatile they are as violinists, is beyond me. I don't want to mention any names in particular, but I'm sure if you think hard, you'll be able to think of a few people.
In fact, while brainstorming, the name "Joshua Bell" might pop up in your head. Dangerously flirting on the edge of middle-age (he turns 40 next year), yet still retaining that boyish American charm, Bell is most likely the dream of every classical music business manager. His good-looks have served him well with audiences but have proved to be a curse amongst "serious" classical musicians. I even found myself skeptical of his violin playing years ago, before I heard him play the Brahms Violin Concerto live.
I was working at a summer music festival selling tickets. Being a classical musician myself, I decided to head backstage to see if I could get his autograph. The only recording I had of his at the time was of Gerswhin pieces arranged for violin by Heifetz, which was entertaining, but it was always dominated by my Jacqueline du Pre and William Primrose CDs (this was before iPods). Earlier that day I drove out to Borders to pick up an album of his that had more substantial repertoire (and that also wasn't illegally copied). I tore his Sibelius Violin Concerto off the shelf in the classical music section, paid quickly, and didn't even bother to unwrap the plastic until moments before I saw him.
With autographing marker and CD in hand, I sought him out backstage just an hour before the concert. He's cute in person, but not as great-looking as people make him out to be. He looked worn, probably due to his extensive touring schedule, but that didn't stop him from being subtly flirtateous while signing in the inside jacket of his (or my, I don't know which) CD.
It was very gracious of him to take up his pre-concert reflection time to sign the CD of some jailbait girl, whom he probably thought was just another ditsy girl who swooned over his looks and his Strad. The most memorable part of that evening, despite meeting him, was the concert portion. His Brahms was unbelievable. Visually he is very captivating; he shifts his weight from foot to foot frantically with the music, he sweats profusely, and he makes these adorable faces when he reaches the high points of phrases.
I thought, "Yeah right, this guy might LOOK good---but what about when you just listen to him?" I closed my eyes and it turns out that he sounded even BETTER. His upbringing and marketing may have been that of a cheapened child prodigy, but he is no child performing parlor tricks on his violin. He is a serious, serious musician. To make sure I wasn't imagining things, as soon as I got home I listened to his Sibelius recording. Like most musicians today I'm sure he did a lot of takes and editing in the studio, so I'll give any naysayers that, but otherwise his interpretation and execution were spellbinding. I prefer that recording to the one of Heifetz himself playing Sibelius.
I was inspired to write this when I searched for the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra on YouTube. One of the first videos that popped up was Joshua Bell playing the Beethoven Violin Concerto, which my evil and skeptical inner voices told me to watch and critique. I honestly could not say anything. As always Orpheus was superb, and Bell was not only passionate, but completely honest. I also enjoyed his sound on the violin very much.
So, what to think now of Vengerov, who moves around too much without drawing out much of a sound? Or of Nigel Kennedy, whose poorly-chosen lifestyles have led him down a difficult path ending in modernized baroque music? Their accomplishments and enduring legacies must be attributed to more than great publicists and star-struck audiences---and I'm glad that Joshua Bell showed me that once again with his Beethoven Violin Concerto. Perhaps someday classical musicians won't have to rely on gimmicks to generate audiences, and perhaps audiences could take the time to appreciate musicians for what they have to give instead of their possession, or lack of, glamour.
In fact, while brainstorming, the name "Joshua Bell" might pop up in your head. Dangerously flirting on the edge of middle-age (he turns 40 next year), yet still retaining that boyish American charm, Bell is most likely the dream of every classical music business manager. His good-looks have served him well with audiences but have proved to be a curse amongst "serious" classical musicians. I even found myself skeptical of his violin playing years ago, before I heard him play the Brahms Violin Concerto live.
I was working at a summer music festival selling tickets. Being a classical musician myself, I decided to head backstage to see if I could get his autograph. The only recording I had of his at the time was of Gerswhin pieces arranged for violin by Heifetz, which was entertaining, but it was always dominated by my Jacqueline du Pre and William Primrose CDs (this was before iPods). Earlier that day I drove out to Borders to pick up an album of his that had more substantial repertoire (and that also wasn't illegally copied). I tore his Sibelius Violin Concerto off the shelf in the classical music section, paid quickly, and didn't even bother to unwrap the plastic until moments before I saw him.
With autographing marker and CD in hand, I sought him out backstage just an hour before the concert. He's cute in person, but not as great-looking as people make him out to be. He looked worn, probably due to his extensive touring schedule, but that didn't stop him from being subtly flirtateous while signing in the inside jacket of his (or my, I don't know which) CD.
It was very gracious of him to take up his pre-concert reflection time to sign the CD of some jailbait girl, whom he probably thought was just another ditsy girl who swooned over his looks and his Strad. The most memorable part of that evening, despite meeting him, was the concert portion. His Brahms was unbelievable. Visually he is very captivating; he shifts his weight from foot to foot frantically with the music, he sweats profusely, and he makes these adorable faces when he reaches the high points of phrases.
I thought, "Yeah right, this guy might LOOK good---but what about when you just listen to him?" I closed my eyes and it turns out that he sounded even BETTER. His upbringing and marketing may have been that of a cheapened child prodigy, but he is no child performing parlor tricks on his violin. He is a serious, serious musician. To make sure I wasn't imagining things, as soon as I got home I listened to his Sibelius recording. Like most musicians today I'm sure he did a lot of takes and editing in the studio, so I'll give any naysayers that, but otherwise his interpretation and execution were spellbinding. I prefer that recording to the one of Heifetz himself playing Sibelius.
I was inspired to write this when I searched for the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra on YouTube. One of the first videos that popped up was Joshua Bell playing the Beethoven Violin Concerto, which my evil and skeptical inner voices told me to watch and critique. I honestly could not say anything. As always Orpheus was superb, and Bell was not only passionate, but completely honest. I also enjoyed his sound on the violin very much.
So, what to think now of Vengerov, who moves around too much without drawing out much of a sound? Or of Nigel Kennedy, whose poorly-chosen lifestyles have led him down a difficult path ending in modernized baroque music? Their accomplishments and enduring legacies must be attributed to more than great publicists and star-struck audiences---and I'm glad that Joshua Bell showed me that once again with his Beethoven Violin Concerto. Perhaps someday classical musicians won't have to rely on gimmicks to generate audiences, and perhaps audiences could take the time to appreciate musicians for what they have to give instead of their possession, or lack of, glamour.
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