Something for Myself

I know it may not sound like much, what with all the novel posting on here lately, but it's been a damn long time since I've done something for myself. Because I wanted to do it. Independent of the opinions of whims or schedules of others.

So what did your embattled heroine do, you ask?

She went to a concert.

The BBC SSO (Scottish Symphony Orchestra) were playing the Aberdeen Music Hall (see below) to the tune of Overture and Venusberg Music from Tannhäuser by Wagner, a selection of songs by Strauss, and the real draw of the evening: Beethoven's 7th Symphony. It was fantastic. It was everything I could have hoped for-- the venue, my cheap ticket, my seat, my ability to listen, all of it. It was a fantastic evening.

I'd been to a ceildh or two at the Music Hall, and saw Buena Vista Social Club there with Alpha 6 months ago, but to see a Symphony which performs with such surgical precision, which plays so cleanly and responsively, was an unaccountable treat. The conductor, Donald Runnicles (below), danced and capered on the stand, his leonine hair bouncing and knees bent to the militantly happy strains of a symphony which can simply be described as a race of endurance.

The Wagner was well done. Now, I'm not the biggest fan of Wagner (certainly not a fan of the man, but the music must be considered independently) but this staging was clean, crisp and entirely well-turned. There was a riff about 4 minutes in which brought tears to my eyes and that symptomatic swelling in my chest that indicates just how visceral my reactions to this kind of music can be. It's not unlike the pinch I get for the strains of patriotic tunes or the pitches of bagpipes-- I'm conditioned for this response, I refuse to either apologise for it or deny it.

As far as the songs (Allerseelen, Wiegenlied, Cacilie, Ruhe meine Seele, Befreit and Zueignung), the soloist did a lovely job. I was a bit disappointed by the smirking of a fellow audience member who I later recognised from my Monday reading group-- these pieces require a bit of the gusto and wild vibrato and pulling the Brumhilde face isn't clever. Regardless, Christine Brewer has a set of pipes she's not afraid to use and I'm glad for it.

Now, what could I possibly say about the Beethoven? Other than that I love it, naturally. The massive opening movement was appropriately bright and bombastic. The second was held to precisely the right pace-- too slow and it's a dirge, too fast and it misses the tenderness of the motifs-- and the full section of double basses set my heart atwitter. There a glimmer of major in the minor movement that hits you like a ray of sunshine between cold buildings: not enough to break your stride, but with just enough weight for you to involuntarily turn your face towards it. The third and fourth movements were a delight, with the latter being held to just that hair short of breakneck. The look that passed between Runnicles and his first violinist was priceless as she lowered her shoulder and prepared for the onslaught. It's militantly, defiantly joyous-- a snow shovel of happiness to the face, one might say.

All that said, it was a lovely night. I walked back to the nest and basked in the rounded tones ringing in my ears the whole way.