Prelude
I often think about the magic of music in my life. On a good day, I wake with a melody playing in my head or heart or soul or wherever music plays inside. On a really good day, I can take that melody and some of the harmony to the piano and produce a reasonable transcription. On a great day, it actually sounds pretty good and maybe even includes some creative riffing on the themes and chords.
That – all of it – is magical, miraculous even. And one of the great blessings of my life.
But there’s more. There’s so much music to listen to on the radio and internet, and no shortage of live concerts within easy striking distance. I recently had the good fortune to attend not one, not two, not three, four, or five, but six live performances. Much of what I heard was deeply inspiring and stirred my soul. Some of it moved me to tears. Even when I was disappointed, each set my mind in motion, encouraging and nourishing my inner artist.
First Movement
Yunchan Lim was the piano soloist for the Boston Symphony Orchestra’s performance of Rachmaninoff’s 3rd Piano Concerto. In 2022, at age 18, Lim became the youngest person ever to win the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, performing this same Rachmaninoff masterpiece. It is regarded by most as one of, if not the, most difficult pieces in the piano repertoire, and Lim’s technical skill, mastery, interpretation, brilliance, and virtuosity captivated the judges and audience. They did so again a year and a half later when, now at 20, Lim wowed the orchestra members and audience at Boston’s Symphony Hall.
I am so grateful to live in a city with one of the world’s great concert halls and so fortunate to have had tickets for what promised to be a historic, once-in-a-lifetime event.
For 40 minutes, I sat forward in my seat, watching Lim’s hands, listening for every note, its tone, its volume, its resonance. Listening for the phrasing and blending of notes and melodies, the brief silences, the intersections of orchestral and soloist’s parts. Listening and loving a piece I knew well but was hearing anew at the hands of the BSO and its young pianist.
I found myself shedding tears of joy and recalling, too, a similar moment when, as a child, my parents took me to New York’s Carnegie Hall to hear Van Cliburn play the First Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto shortly after he had played that piece and won the 1958 International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow.
Second Movement
The headliner for a concert at the Me and Thee Coffeehouse in Marblehead did not disappoint.
Vance Gilbert was brilliant. Before singing a note or touching his guitar, his stage presence and engagement with the audience spoke to the generosity of his spirit and the music in his soul. Then, his vocal range, different styles (from folk to jazz to everything in between), his always insightful words moving from whimsical to poignant, plus his unquestionable skills as a stand-up comic and entertainer combined for a very special two hours, a musical and spiritual invitation to soar. A lesser person might have impressed with his larger-than-life persona, but Vance lifted us -- certainly me -- to our larger selves. Unlike Yunchan Lim whose skills at the piano are overwhelming and inspiring but not reachable for us mere mortals, Vance offered a friendly presence and encouragement to sing and write on. It was as if he was reaching out to remind me that we’re kindred spirits, he with his guitar and voice, me with my pen and pad.
Third Movement
Three other performances - Antje Duvekot at the Harmony on the Green Coffeehouse in Lexington and the opening acts at both coffeehouses - fell well short of the mark. But, if not inspiring, they did nourish Jay the critic.
The two opening acts were memorable in how easy it is to forget them. At the Me and Thee, two men with guitars had not one decent voice between them, and their original songs had not one thing of interest to say. It’s like me offering some of the drivel in my notebooks or very bad first drafts to the eyes and ears of an audience. It would never occur to me! Their set was short, short in duration, and shorter yet in merit.
The same can largely be said of the young woman who was the Harmony on the Green opener. Her voice was sweet enough, but it came from her mouth with precious little from further down where resonance and soul are to be found. Her parents sat proudly, holding hands as their daughter performed, so this had the feel of a high school talent show, albeit with a child of about 30. And as for lived experience to shape words and verses, well maybe that was too much to expect.
Antje Duvekot was significantly better in guitar playing, voice, and message. But, in a light-hearted and disarmingly revealing line she offered while introducing a recently written song, she spoke of her very narrow comfort zone and her enormous fear of - and resistance to - going outside it. That’s what was so apparent in her writing and in her performance. The songs were not bad, some good even, but they were all the same. They were the same in notes, rhythm, and failure to speak to much – experiences, emotions, questions - of importance. I found myself wanting to be her father or her coach, encouraging her to break out, take flight, take a chance, show us even a modicum of the range of a Vance Gilbert. But no. She held back and I don’t recall a single clever phrase. I’m left to wonder whether that’s because there weren’t any or because they didn’t come out with any compelling force.
Fourth Movement
Last and certainly not least, the Lexington Symphony’s program included Felix Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto and Chen Gang’s “Sunshine on Tashkurgan,” two works featuring violin soloist Sirena Huang. Huang was the Gold Medal winner at the 2022 International Violin Competition of Indianapolis and is another extraordinarily gifted young musician in the early days of what promises to be a brilliant career. It was yet one more sit-forward-in-your-seat and shed-tears-of-joy evening, marveling in the sheer magic of the moment and imagining the joy she’d bring for many years to come, joy that would echo across the globe long after I am gone.
Coda
In the end, what you have to say and how well you say it both matter. Musing on my recent musical travels, that’s a standard I set for myself. My daily writing practice and my time at the piano keyboard are private. They’re for my own entertainment, experimentation, expression, exercise, and stretching. They are steps (and missteps) on a journey, not to be confused with a destination. Yunchan Lim, Vance Gilbert, and Sirena Huang do their private work too, but then edit, practice, practice some more, and work to perfect. That’s critical work, the distinction between the forgettable and what’s worth reaching for.
Really enjoyed this overview of your recent forays into the joys and gifts of live music!