Well, the other night, I did what I promised myself I would do, and I went and heard the Minnesota Orchestra perform Beethoven's Mass in D Major (Missa Solemnis). Even better, Osmo Vänska was conducting, whom I had really wanted to see. And let me tell you folks, it was a tremendous performance.
Yes, I had to buy a full price ticket. Yes, I had to sit next to a weirdass in an undershirt who kept murmuring "bravo." Yes, I sat in the third tier. Yes, I have a crick in my neck that probably won't disappear for another week as a result. But Beethoven cures all ills. If he can suffer the most torturous irony of being a deaf composer, I can suffer a pain in the neck.
Having no one to go with, I decided to go alone. "The music would be my companion," I bravely told myself. Typically, I find music to be a most social activity. Some of my fondest memories in college and beyond consist of listening to music in community, be it live or on record. However, I think we can all recognize, that at times, music is most effective in solitude. Although the Missa Solemnis would undoubtedly be a brilliant piece to discuss, I decided to go to Orchestra Hall with the intent of (as much as possible), a solitary experience with the music. Which is convenient, since as aforementioned, I had no one to go with.
Music, as an art form, can be directed in many different ways. Much of what we listen to everyday is directed towards entertainment, towards popular gratification. Other forms, like perhaps jazz, are created with the end goal of the music itself. Art music, I suppose, music for the sake of music. However, as distinct and broad as these two categories are, I think there should be a third category. Music directed towards God, towards the Divine. And I suppose this third stream might be much more subjective than the other two, since people have many different ways of experiencing the Divine. When I think of this, my mind most directly goes to my experiences with the Luther College Concert Band. At the close of every concert, we would sing/play an arrangement of Bach's "Who Puts His Trust in God Most Just." Now, the band was composed of a great variety of people, who undoubtedly had many different beliefs. But in the playing of that song, something special happened, and we no longer played as we played the rest of the concert. Something spiritual occurred, be it an act of the band within itself, or the music being directed towards a higher purpose.
In my opinion, the Missa Solemnis must be the pinnacle of this "third stream" of musical direction. I wish I could adequately describe what I heard, the most perfect mix of chorale, orchestra, and solo voice. But alas, I cannot. However, it was, in a word, transfixing. I only wish I would not have been distracted by the visible musicianship of the orchestra and chorale, that I could have simply closed my eyes and listened to the music. Of course, that is not a feasible option at a live concert, since part of the experience is watching the vitality of the musicians. Such is life, always these decisions. Either watch the musicians and be distracted, or don't watch the musicians and be transported.
As an aside, isn't it interesting to juxtapose the vitality of the orchestra with the dullness of your typical classical music crowd? I think it's really a shame that the audience is almost solely comprised of old people... I mean, young people can appreciate good music as well. My solution? Do as the Twins do. $4 seats and $1 hot dogs. Add in some cheap beer, and away we go. Think of the fun you could have with Mahler.
Even more fun would be to watch Mr. Vänska. His conducting was absolutely fantastic, so full of energy and vigor. I was afraid at times he might poke out the eyes of some of the folks in the front row with his baton, the way he was waving that thing about.
Anways, for my own part though, I feel true "musical" revelation comes as a consequence of "listening," preferably solely with the ears. In a dimly lit room, perhaps with a glass of fine scotch, to be perfectly honest. Thus, I should very much like to get a copy of the Missa Solemnis, and listen to it at home. I think then, I'll gain a much greater appreciation for the music on an intellectual and spiritual level.
However, the appreciation I got the other night was significant enough for now. The power and intensity of the Mass truly is something to behold. I, of course, made sure to get a seat with a good view of the trombone section, and there were some really great licks for bass trombone in particular. It definitely made me long for my old friend...
Aside from the general intensity of the entire experience, I think perhaps the most superlative moment came at the end of the "Sanctus," where there was this enrapturing violin solo that carried over the entire orchestra and chorus. It was something else, to be sure, probably made more poignant by the fact that the MN Orchestra's concertmaster is retiring this year after some 20 years. And she played beautifully. Yeah, it was just wild.
So yes, I would highly recommend listening to the Missa Solemnis. Of course, it is somewhat of a task, being a good hour and 20 minutes or so of music. But it is also assuredly some of the most beautiful music you will ever hear in your lifetime.
In reading the program notes, what is so fantastic about Beethoven is not only his dedication of this piece to God, but also his unwavering faith in the strength of human relationships. I mean, if you have not listened to the Ninth Symphony, beknownst of its meaning, and not felt an incredible feeling about the state of humanity, I really don't know what is wrong with you. If you appreciated the ethical message of the Ninth, you must listen to the Missa Solemnis.
As was written by Beethoven himself upon the score, "From the heart - may it go again - to the heart."
No comments:
Post a Comment