No Big Hair!

This post begins, as much as I’ve already (in previous posts) mentioned trying to avoid it, with undertones of “why don’t more people like classical [sic] music?” Today’s rationalization (to be similarly underdeveloped as was the Don Giovanni post): the Dies irae – Tuba mirum of Berlioz’ Grande Messe des Morts (Grosse Totenmesse (Gifuckingantic Death Mass)), as played by the Berliner Philharmoniker in their home hall with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra Chorus, under the steady (left-handed) baton of Donald Runnicles. The chills I felt when the antiphonal brass choirs made their first entrance were unlike any I’ve experienced at a concert in a long time – I’ve been thinking about it on and off since the concert ended about two and a half hours ago and can’t quite decide what the last time would be. And why I think this informs the whole WDMPSLC[s]M thing is that it was such a physical experience. I don’t see how my education or experience as an orchestral musician or as a person-who-likes-Berlioz-way-more-than-your-average-person (I actually listed Berlioz in my cover letter as an influence on my grad school applications to Creative Writing programs) has anything to do with the essential physical reaction of getting goosebumps from a giant orchestra and four antiphonal brass choirs playing ripshit mega-chords.

I attended this concert with a stehplatz (standing room) ticket, as it was sold out well in advance (all the BP concerts are), which involves getting to the hall early – I got there at 5:45 for an 8:00 show (and was 15^th in line (there are 24 stehplatz available for every concert)), and standing around, and then standing, er, well, actually, leaning through the entire program. The first 14 stehplaetze are in the very back of the hall, the second 10 way up high stage left. The sounds a little bit distant, but not all that bad – actually, quite good. During this wait, I started working out what part of this post would be about – namely, that I would once again give an overwhelmingly positive review to a concert here. Part of the hope of eventually living long-term in Berlin is to live here long enough to have an opportunity to take this kind of performance for grants, though at the same time there’s no evidence available that I ever actually would get tired of these concerts.

Which is not to say that I want to give a concert a bad review – and I would never, ever, give any concert a review that contained anything but what I consider my actual opinion. It’s mostly the fact that down in Miami I’m generally regarded as a Negative Nancy (preferably pronounced like the last name of everyone’s favorite positive-negativist (and not pronounced like "nance")), you know, generally hating everything (“I don’t even know you, but I hate your guts.”), being angry and cynical, et cetera, et cetera. So my current conclusion, then, is that I’m not negative after all. I just like different things. And it’s too bad more people don’t like what I like (though again, this last statement is heavily caveated and generally meant to be read as tongue-in-cheek (let’s face it, I don’t actually want lot’s of people liking what I like (then I’d just have to like something else (time to dig the Mets hat out of Mom & Dad’s closet)))).

That all being said, I was damn thoroughly awestruck by this concert. I really think that Berlioz was from the future. I think if I was ever on a space ship fleeing earth at the time of its final demise, I’d want the Berlioz Requiem to be performed as we pulled slowly away and our solar sails unfurled, slowly building the momentum required to zip across space to new planets. This sense of space ship though may just be because the Philharmonie, though probably more circus tent in visual look than anything, also could definitely look like a spaceship (or the concert hall at the very top/front of a space ship). So, although it seems like something of a once in a lifetime concert, it certainly needed be.

Also, the tenor soloist – some Canadian (!) named Joseph Kaiser – was phenomenal. Mother taught us to hate shitty tenors (maybe that’s a stretch, Ma?), but then when you hear a good one, damn. I got chills not as big as the brass choirs, but his voice, coming again from high up and towards the back of the hall, had an incredible clarity and presence, and force, etc. Also, amazing was towards the end of the Dies irae – Tuba mirum, once the apocalyptiloud section is over, the group got to this incredible softer, deeply deeply warm tone to close the movement that was incredibly moving. I don’t know how anyone could get tired of seeing concerts like this.

In other news, at the Neue Nationalgalerie today I saw what must have been my seventh or eighth Bird in Space (the mega-famous Brancusi sculpture (there are sixteen in total (7 marble, 9 brass)).

In other other news, I talked to my Gastgeberin a bit more – she doesn’t just cut hair out of the apartment as a side job – she’s actually a full-time professional make-up and hair artist. She sees and has seen a lot of hair, and mine is beautiful. I’m going to wash it tomorrow (which will either be earlier today (today today, not the today of any prior paragraphs) or yesterday or possibly even two days ago by the time I post this. And if it’s two days ago then maybe the water heater is fixed by now so I won’t have to heat the water in a pot on the stove to wash my hair a second time (even though I haven’t done that for the first time just yet at the time of this writing).