Thursday, May 12, 2016.
Modern Classical Music And Beethoven, Followed By Pizza.
Mary Ann has taken a liking to classical music in the past couple of years. We have been attending most events on the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra, and enjoying them.
But the test comes tonight. The performance has been billed as Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, which in my mind is the apotheosis of classical music. I probably feel this way because it was the first classical music to which I paid attention. With three other Beethoven symphonies (First, Fourth, and Eighth) it was the first classical music I ever bought. On eight-track tape cartridges (!) for my first stereo system. I was twenty-one.
MA says she prefers the Ninth Symphony. Same reason: it was played at the first classical music concert she ever attended.
But what neither of us knew tonight is that the first half of tonight's program involves two very modern works, about as far away from Beethoven as could be imagined. I like this kind of music, even though I don't understand it. I sit there trying to dope out the rhythm (I'm not sure there is one) and the tonality (ditto), but I get nowhere. You just have to agree to be washed along by music like this.
[caption id="attachment_51481" align="alignnone" width="480"]
The LPO at the Orpheum.[/caption]
You also have to let the musicians have their way. I can't imagine that this music is anything less than extremely difficult to learn and play. This is an exhibition of their skills, and very impressive at that.
The Marys are much less sympathetic to the music than I am. Especially Mary Leigh, who doesn't even get her head around the Beethoven. Not even with my help, which I'm sure she didn't want anyway.
I walked to the Orpheum from the radio station, and arrive an hour and a half before the concert. There isn't enough time to have dinner. Domenica in the Roosevelt is a packed house. We don't like the menu in the Fountain Lounge.
I wait out the time at the theater, where I get a Sazerac at the marble bar in the lobby. I run into Arthur Nead, an artist, designer, and all-around illustrator in local journalistic circles.
We get to talking about all the writers, photographers, artists, and graphic designers we know mutually. After an hour taking that inventory, it occurs to me that a book could be written about those people, that era (1970s until Katrina) and their environment. Most of them are a) still at it, or 2) retired but still working now and then, or iii) living elsewhere but frequently visiting New Orleans.
Most of these people have a connection to one another because at some time they all worked freelance for New Orleans Magazine, Figaro, or its successor Gambit. I was the editor for several years of New Orleans Magazine and Figaro, and I dealt with all these people often. Since most of us lived in or near the French Quarter, our social circles overlapped and relationships between us were numerous. Breakfasts taken at the Coffee Pot that included these semi-bohemians ran into the hundreds.
Mary Ann says this project is a terrible idea. Who cares about these people? I think it would be interesting, but she need not worry. I don't have nearly enough time to consider the project.
But I might write the book anyway.
Back in the present, the LPO and conductor Carlos Miguel Prieto deftly handled Beethoven's Fifth. I can scat-sing the whole symphony from memory, so I could tell when they were adding a new bit of interpretation. It was all sharp and loaded with energy.
The Marys and I cross the the street to have dinner at Domenica. MA got an after-concert reservation on her way in. We get the last available table. Within minutes, our threesome fills its empty seat with Daniel Lelchuk, the second-chair cellist in the LPO for three years. He is also a frequent caller into my radio, a gourmet and cook and friend. We importune him with opinions about the modern pieces. He says that it's a challenge, but not so difficult that he and the orchestra needed more than a couple of rehearsals to nail it. I am in awe of his musical ability.
[caption id="attachment_21380" align="alignnone" width="399"]
Calabresi pizza at Domenica.[/caption]
I order a pizza Calabresi, which involves a base of tomato sauce, salami, mozzarella, capers, and olives. Mary Ann says that I must have ordered that combination to please her. I let her believe that. I thought it was great, and so did Daniel, who shared the oversufficiency. The Marys split an individually-baked lasagna. That is the kind of thing that Domenica has soft-peddled, shooting after more authentic dishes. But there's no way this lasagna could be called anything but perfect. No wonder it sells for $24.
The long day ends with our getting home at almost midnight. That reminds me of the Age Of Figaro, too. I might have to write this book. If I succumb to the temptation, I should write it between midnight and two a.m., which was an intensive work time for me in those days.
Domenica. CBD: 123 Baronne (Roosevelt Hotel). 504-648-6020.
The LPO at the Orpheum.[/caption]
You also have to let the musicians have their way. I can't imagine that this music is anything less than extremely difficult to learn and play. This is an exhibition of their skills, and very impressive at that.
The Marys are much less sympathetic to the music than I am. Especially Mary Leigh, who doesn't even get her head around the Beethoven. Not even with my help, which I'm sure she didn't want anyway.
I walked to the Orpheum from the radio station, and arrive an hour and a half before the concert. There isn't enough time to have dinner. Domenica in the Roosevelt is a packed house. We don't like the menu in the Fountain Lounge.
I wait out the time at the theater, where I get a Sazerac at the marble bar in the lobby. I run into Arthur Nead, an artist, designer, and all-around illustrator in local journalistic circles.
We get to talking about all the writers, photographers, artists, and graphic designers we know mutually. After an hour taking that inventory, it occurs to me that a book could be written about those people, that era (1970s until Katrina) and their environment. Most of them are a) still at it, or 2) retired but still working now and then, or iii) living elsewhere but frequently visiting New Orleans.
Most of these people have a connection to one another because at some time they all worked freelance for New Orleans Magazine, Figaro, or its successor Gambit. I was the editor for several years of New Orleans Magazine and Figaro, and I dealt with all these people often. Since most of us lived in or near the French Quarter, our social circles overlapped and relationships between us were numerous. Breakfasts taken at the Coffee Pot that included these semi-bohemians ran into the hundreds.
Mary Ann says this project is a terrible idea. Who cares about these people? I think it would be interesting, but she need not worry. I don't have nearly enough time to consider the project.
But I might write the book anyway.
Back in the present, the LPO and conductor Carlos Miguel Prieto deftly handled Beethoven's Fifth. I can scat-sing the whole symphony from memory, so I could tell when they were adding a new bit of interpretation. It was all sharp and loaded with energy.
The Marys and I cross the the street to have dinner at Domenica. MA got an after-concert reservation on her way in. We get the last available table. Within minutes, our threesome fills its empty seat with Daniel Lelchuk, the second-chair cellist in the LPO for three years. He is also a frequent caller into my radio, a gourmet and cook and friend. We importune him with opinions about the modern pieces. He says that it's a challenge, but not so difficult that he and the orchestra needed more than a couple of rehearsals to nail it. I am in awe of his musical ability.
[caption id="attachment_21380" align="alignnone" width="399"]
Calabresi pizza at Domenica.[/caption]
I order a pizza Calabresi, which involves a base of tomato sauce, salami, mozzarella, capers, and olives. Mary Ann says that I must have ordered that combination to please her. I let her believe that. I thought it was great, and so did Daniel, who shared the oversufficiency. The Marys split an individually-baked lasagna. That is the kind of thing that Domenica has soft-peddled, shooting after more authentic dishes. But there's no way this lasagna could be called anything but perfect. No wonder it sells for $24.
The long day ends with our getting home at almost midnight. That reminds me of the Age Of Figaro, too. I might have to write this book. If I succumb to the temptation, I should write it between midnight and two a.m., which was an intensive work time for me in those days.
