Reserved for Press
On Thursday, Oct. 20, I saw Roomful of Teeth’s double header in the newly renovated David Geffen Hall. The 7:30 p.m. concert, in the Wu Tsai Theater, was followed by a 10 p.m. “nightcap” in the Sidewalk Studio.
Now, I’m not an acoustical expert. I couldn’t tell you, for example, why the ceiling looks like metal chainmail. Or why the petal-printed seats extend behind the stage.
The theater, to me, sounded good. Loud and live. Both from the third-tier seat I purchased, and from the unclaimed orchestra center one I nabbed after intermission.
But I do know something about interior design. And I can say, without hesitation, that David Geffen Hall is one of the stranger spaces I’ve inhabited.
I stepped into what looked like an airport lobby. Patrons stared, zombie-like, at a giant screen showing a futuristic New York skyline. Atop spinning saucers, people in black bodysuits interpretive danced or played CGI cellos.
At this point, I ran into a friend, who was high on an edible. I might as well have been. We passed through security, which consisted of metal detectors and a (bomb-sniffing? drug-sniffing?) black lab.
The aesthetic of David Geffen Hall — primary colors, geometric patterns — reminds me of an AMC movie theater. What someone in the 1960s would imagine 2022 to look like. Liminal spaces covered wall-to-wall with carpet and dimly lit by exit signs.
As we ascended what felt like endless stairs, I heard what I thought was elevator music. My friend recognized it as a cover of “Poker Face” by the Vitamin String Quartet. Bizarre.
Once I found my lofty seat, and the lights did their twinkly dance, the NY Phil began with Debussy’s Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun. The harp strums lent the night an even more dreamlike air.
This was followed by the U.S. premiere of Caroline Shaw’s Microfictions, Vol. 3, commissioned for the NY Phil.
The piece, with surreal movement names such as “Anton Webern steered his blue pickup into a field where grasses grew ten stories tall and the wind carried the weight of suggestion,” felt, to me, a bit too commercial.
The Roomful of Teeth singers (Shaw among them) sounded over-mic’d, especially in “The ground beneath chattered relentlessly, its hard edge tempered only by elastic intonation and parenthetical umami.”
It’s a shame because balance is never an issue in Shaw’s wonderful chamber music. Microfictions felt like a still life blown up to landscape scale.
Following the intermission was Florence Price’s Symphony No. 4 in D minor, bass-heavy and cinematic, with melodies reminiscent of Dvorak.
Fittingly, the orchestra played Slavonic Dances as an encore.
The Kenneth C. Griffin Sidewalk Studio overlooks the street. Pedestrians stop to peer into the tall windows, like a cultural zoo.
For this “nightcap,” I sat behind a row of seats that were “Reserved for Press” according to the sheets of computer paper bearing the NY Phil logo.
I was excited to recognize Anthony Tommasini and Zachary Woolfe, former and current New York Times classical music critics, respectively.
The program, by all “female-identified” composers (I would have preferred just “female”), included the world premiere of Angélica Negrón’s math, the one which is sweet.
Roomful of Teeth is known for its mouth noises. Negrón’s piece — in addition to electronic marimba, sampling, and field recording — included wet sounds like mic’d burps.
inti figgis-vizueta’s earths to come had all sorts of snaps, crackles, and pops. Not to mention growls and throat singing. Sarah Kirkland Snider’s The Orchard and Missy Mazzoli’s Vesper Sparrow both included seal noises.
The screeching in Nathalie Joachim’s All There Is Is Now contrasted a beautiful melody. The piece ends with breathing. There was also a lush tonal section in Leilehua Lanzilotti’s On Stochastic Wave Behavior.
Throughout all of this, Woolfe looked incredibly serious. Distracted only at one point by an impromptu photoshoot happening on the street.
At the end, Woolfe dashed out quickly, presumably to write this review. I felt suddenly compelled to steal one of the “Reserved for Press” signs.
It’s now taped to my desk chair at home.
