Wednesday night we attended one of a series of Classical concerts at the Sheldon. This concert, entitled Moonlight, was part of a Beethoven series and featured two of the “Three Bs,” Beethoven and Brahms (Bach didn’t make an appearance). The “Moonlight” in the concert title comes from the unofficial name of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-Sharp Minor Op. 27, No 2. No wonder they call it the Moonlight Sonata. You’ve heard this sonata, at least the first movement, whether you recognize the name or not.
We were there as the guests of Peggy and Steve Fuller, two of our neighbors. Their children originally planned to attend but could no longer use the tickets, so Peggy and Steve very kindly invited us along.
I usually tell people most of my knowledge of classical music comes from Bugs Bunny cartoons (“Kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit!”), but that’s not entirely true. Bugs may have been my intro, but my elementary music teacher introduced me to Pier Gynt and made me appreciate that music could tell a story more complex than The Purple People Eater. Then there was Quaker Oats using the 1812 Overture to sell oatmeal. I wore out the 1812 and its “B” side, Beethoven’s Wellington’s Victory, before I got out of high school. But my real exposure to classical music was from the movies: Fantasia, Kubrick’s 2001 and A Clockwork Orange, Apocalypse Now. Woody Allen’s Love and Death introduced me to Prokofiev, though I loved Peter and the Wolf as a kid without knowing who wrote the music. Poor Leah spent her first two years eating mashed asparagus and homemade yogurt to the strains of Prokofiev’s Russia Under the Mongolian Yoke and listening to me pick out the first few measures of Beethoven’s Für Elise over and over and over on our old out-of-tune upright piano. She’s probably programmed by that music to do something like… eat mashed asparagus and yogurt whenever she watches Alexander Nevsky or Rosemary’s Baby.
I felt that my appreciation of classical music was wide but shallow, though. I never got much beyond the 120 Classical Music Masterpieces pitched by John Williams (no, not that John Williams, the other John Williams) in TV’s longest running commercial. Seeing a performance of something obscure (to me) like Beethoven’s Serenade in D Major for Flute, Violin and Viola, Op. 25 was on another level of musical sophistication altogether. It was swimming in the deep end of classical music instead of splashing around in the “light music” kiddie pool.
There were four performers. The two headliners were David Halen, Concertmaster (first violin) of the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra and Peter Henderson, a talented pianist who performs frequently with the Symphony. Halen and Henderson played two sets together, Beethoven’s Spring Sonata and Brahms’ Sonata No. 1 for Violin and Piano in G Major, Op. 78. Halen was joined by Mark Sparks on flute and Kathleen Mattis on viola for the Serenade in D Major for Flute, Violin and Viola, Op. 25, and Henderson played the Moonlight Sonata by himself.
There are no bad seats in the Sheldon, but our seats were superb. We were only about 15 feet from the performers and were able to see every motion, especially the hands and face of the pianist. Each piece consisted of three or more movements and we experienced for the second time the awkward phenomenon of the applause-between-movements conundrum. The first time was when we went to see the Ahn Trio in February, which somehow I missed blogging about. I had no idea this was even a controversy. Here’s the short version:
No one is exactly sure how it got started, but since the early 20th century, classical music aficionados have been conditioned to remain silent between movements and to wait until the end of a piece to applaud. Presumably everybody is impressed that they know the piece isn’t over until the end of the last movement.
Classical concert newbies invariably clap at the end of the first movement and feel like doofuses (doofi?) when no one else claps. Depending on their level of embarrassment (some conductors have been known to turn around and wag their fingers at newbie clappers) they may never come back to a classical concert. Way to go. Humiliate the guy who just paid money to see you.
And the musicians are left to wonder if the audience is still there when they get to the end of a movement and can hear a pin drop.
It’s too bad something so simple is tangled up in such pretentiousness. Yet, being no stranger to pretentiousness myself, there are times when applause seems more appropriate than others. When a movement ends on a soft, lingering note, the rapt silence of the audience seems to enhance the transition to the next movement. But when a movement ends on a thunderous, rousing note, it just seems silly to sit there in silence.
The three configurations of performers (violin/pianist, flautist/violin/viola, and solo pianist) all had their different charms. When the violinist and pianist were playing together, the piano seemed to recede into the background and my attention was focused on the violin. When the flute, violin, and viola were together as a trio, the flute seemed to be more prominent, with the violin a close second and the viola serving as a bridge and counterpoint between the two. The trio seemed to be dancing from the ankles up; they would sway toward and away from each other in time to the music, but their feet were rooted to the floor.
But the best part of the concert for me was Peter Henderson’s solo piano performance of the Moonlight Sonata. The first movement was magical, and watching his facial expressions through all three movements was a joy.
It was an enjoyable night, indeed. It made me realize I don’t want to live someplace where you can’t see a live performance of the Moonlight Sonata.
- Poppa
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