The Week Over-Heard #2
Untitled Review
Some of my most profound musical experiences have been at drag shows. And so, I shouldn’t have expected anything less from Sasha Velour’s Nightgowns at Le Poisson Rouge on Sunday, May 21.
Even so, I was surprised when God Complex — in an Edward-Scissorhands-meets-The-Joker look — opened their first number with Mozart’s Requiem, which eventually segued into Radiohead’s “Creep.”
Of course, everyone was fabulous — Velour in an uncharacteristic Dolly Parton wig, and Aquaria representing a different kind of drag altogether.
But stealing the show was Untitled Queen, who did an homage to Derek Jarman’s Blue wearing an ombré Klein blue wig. Their last number was Laurie Anderson’s “O Superman,” performed by Jess Ramsay on synthesizer, with visuals about anti-drag legislation.
Bach, the Sprinter
I couldn’t help but notice that Johnny Gandelsman’s squared-off beard perfectly matched that of the emaciated Christ that hung from the apse of the Met Cloisters’ Fuentidueña Chapel.
The Brooklyn Rider violinist had just as pained an expression when — on Monday, May 22 — he began his four-concert Bach marathon.
Starting with the Sonata No. 1 in G minor, Gandelsman played the free-rhythmed “adagio,” followed by the head-bobbing “fuga.” Adopting a fiddler stance in the “siciliana,” his effort was visible in the sprinting “presto.”
“One down, eleven to go,” he said, as if feeling the limestone weight on his shoulders.
In the Partita No. 1 in B minor, I wish he’d savor the “allemande” more. The doubles felt more than doubly fast. Following the shimmery “corrente,” the “sarabande” felt stately only comparatively, ending with the plucky “tempo de borea.”
The “grave” that opened the Sonata No. 2 in A minor didn’t feel in the present. It needed to breathe. But the muscular “fuga” was followed by such delicacy in the “andante,” which really sounded like two voices. The sonata ended with technical fireworks in the “allegro.”
The concert had begun at 7 p.m. It was only 7:58.
“It takes about an hour to feel good,” joked Gandelsman. So, as an encore, he played Bach’s first cello suite, also slated for Wednesday’s concert.
I’m usually resentful of such transcriptions. Stay in your lane! But Gandelsman made the bariolage in the “prelude” sound like a hoedown. And while my ear missed notes in the “allemande,” Gandelsman really dug into the “courante.”
The tender “sarabande” sounded totally different on violin. And in the “menuets,” Gandelsman danced in place, toy soldier-like. The final “gigue” sounded like Celtic fiddle.
Overall, the suite sounded lighter and easier on violin — a pleasant contrast to the earlier, positively strenuous part of the program.
Limerence
The problem with Suzanne Farrin’s “Composer Portrait” — at Columbia’s Miller Theater on Tuesday, May 23 — was that it began with a movement so beautiful there was no following it.
That movement was “unico spirito” from dolce la morte. In it, the tension between drone-like oboe and countertenor Eric Jurenas feels like unrequited love.
Commissioned by the Met Museum for the International Contemporary Ensemble in 2016, dolce — the movements of which were interspersed throughout the program — features Michelangelo’s love poetry to nobleman Tommaso dei Cavalieri.
They were the highlight of the “Portrait.” I only wished I’d heard them all together.
“Il Suono” featured extended techniques by harpist Nuiko Wadden, with soprano Alice Teyssier singing, “music and poetry without instrument.”
“come serpe,” from dolce, featured snake sounds in winds. Jurenas, lower in his tessitura, sings: “That my destiny would be to clothe his living skin with my dead skin so that, as a serpent sloughs on a stone, I might through death change my state. ”
It made Radiohead’s “your skin makes me cry” sound positively normal.
There was incredible solo playing all around: The harp “chopping” in “polvere et ombra” sounded like Flamenco guitar. Josh Modney made the most of the violin’s resonance in the sforzando-filled “Time is a Cage.”
“veggio” from dolce, continued Michelangelo’s skin obsession, with the line, “The soul, covered in flesh.” Ascending glissandos accompanied the words “risen to God.”
I wondered if there was symbolism to Kemp Jernigan’s solo oboe in “l’onde” from dolce. The piece’s final movement, “rendete,” featured thunderous strings.
In the post-intermission discussion, Farrin wore black-and-white pinstripe tracksuit. “I think of myself as a tailor,” she said of her relationship to her musicians.
In the Lara Pellegrinelli’s excellent program notes, she quotes Farrin as saying she was inspired, in “corpo di terra,” by cellist Clare Monfredo. Specifically, “The way her hair plays with the scroll of her instrument.”
Indeed, I was struck by the technically challenging work’s sense of embodiment. With bugle-like harmonics, wiping sounds, and Monfredo’s left hand inch-worming up the fingerboard.
The concert culminated with the world premiere of “The Hearts are Columns.” It featured scraping percussion, Soprano outbursts, and Farrin on the ondes Martenot, which complemented the otherworldly harp.
Tacos, Tequila, and Taverner
As the sun set over Green-Wood Cemetery, the smell of carnitas wafted in the air. Some concertgoers, emboldened by mezcal, swing danced to the Grand St. Stompers.
“Tacos, Tequila, and Taverner’s The Protecting Veil,” presented by Death of Classical, was the last of a trilogy that also included “Burgers, Bourbon, and Beethoven” and “Hotdogs, Hooch, and Handel”
As the Stompers’ M.C. said, it’s unusual to hear jazz that’s earlier than the classical music on the program (1920s versus 1998). As if to remedy this, they played an arrangement of “hornpipe” Handel’s Water Music.
Once the last taco truck had sold its last taco, Matthew conducted the Contemporaneous Ensemble in The Protecting Veil. I was astonished by cellist Joshua Roman’s purity of tone — weren’t his fingers cold in the outdoors?
Playing high up in thumb position, he sounded at times like a violin, at others like a voice. With each falling minor ninth, sounding both comforting and mysterious.
The Protecting Veil is a piece that always sounds like it’s about to end, like one long cadenza. At times dissonant, droning, or modal — with shrieking violins that remind me of the shower scene from Psycho.
The best moments for me were lying on the hill, looking not at the outdoor stage, but at the stars. I could have, however, done without Roman’s less-than-successful arrangement of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”