Music

Rush Hour Concerts and Broadway in Chicago

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Fifth House Ensemble – Rush Hour Concert – St. James Cathedral – July 2, 2018 (better late than never)
Broadway in Chicago – Millennium Park – August 13, 2018
Avalon String Quartet – Rush Hour Concert – St. James Cathedral – August 14, 2018

The abbreviation used for the Fifth House Ensemble is 5HE. Since the group I saw play was composed of three women, I thought 5HE was supposed to look like SHE. Very clever. But no. The musicians I saw are part of a larger group that makes up 5HE and some of the members are men. Oh well.

Anyway, it was a wonderful musical performance, BUT, the videos that went with it, didn’t. The one during the first movement displayed a vague nothingness that made me instead think of the song Nothing from A Chorus Line, which actually is about something.

During the second movement, they showed someone painting a picture, which struck me as a poor man’s version of Bill Alexander on the PBS tv show, The Magic of Oil Painting, in the 1970s.

The cellist did a lot of head shaking, which suggested that she probably doesn’t play golf, or at least not well.

The Avalon String Quartet added another cellist and beautifully played Schubert’s String Quintet (four plus one equals five) in C Major, which the program notes said ends in a slightly ambiguous note. My only confusion was as to the basis for that statement.

The upright bass player in the orchestra backing up the performers (who were shuffled on and off stage as if they were the singing waitstaff at Ellen’s Stardust Diner in Times Square) at the Broadway in Chicago event kept looking at his top hand, which led me to a fun online response to a question about guitarists doing that, which ended by saying that “if your eyes are closed all of the time you may miss important visual cues like when the song is supposed to end”, which reminded me of my torts law professor’s unambiguous declaration that if you change the facts, you may change the result.

 

Grant Park Music Festival – Millennium Park – August 8 and 11, 2018

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This week’s guest soloists at the Grant Park Music Festival were pianist George Li, showing off Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1, and cellist Pablo Ferrández, treating us to Prokofiev’s Sinfonia Concertante. But neither could hold a candle, so to speak, from an entertainment, if not talent, viewpoint, to the guest soloist bagpiper on the Michigan Avenue bridge, whose music was so hot that he had flames shooting from his instrument as he played, which apparently is not uncommon for street bagpipers.

I wonder whether the city knew about the fiery nature of his act when they gave him a street license. The application form only seems concerned with noise and congestion, not possible loss of life.

Nevertheless, getting a license to be a street performer, also known as a busker (news to me), can be a challenge, which has led to numerous legal challenges across the country.

It’s unlikely that Li or Ferrández will have to resort to playing in the street for tips, but that doesn’t mean that they are without their challenges. For instance, in particular in regard to a pianist, what about one’s height?  I read that 6 foot, 4 inch Bruce Hornsby hunches over the keyboard. and doesn’t use the pedals.

So what about Li, who, from a distance, appeared rather short. Li’s height, or lack thereof, was a topic of concern when, as a ten-year-old prodigy playing with a trio, he could barely reach the pedals.  I wonder if he used a pedal extender.

This also led me to wonder whether bicycle manufacturers make toe clips for piano pedals, so that you can play faster? Ukrainian Lubomyr Melnyk claims that he is the world’s fastest playing pianist, at 19 piano notes on each hand every second. It strikes me that a tuba player might have trouble keeping up with him.

 

Grant Park Music Festival – Millennium Park – July 27, 2018

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I don’t write about every GPMF concert I see because it would get boring to say I loved the music and the orchestra sounded great. So here’s a twist. The orchestra sounded great throughout the evening, and I loved two of the pieces they played (Ralph Williams’ Norfolk Rhapsody No. 2 and Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 3), but I hated Andrew Norman’s Switch. It is for moments like this that they should have two overhead signs, one that lights up for Applause for the Orchestra and one that lights up for Applause for the Music, so that we can show our appreciation for the musicians’ efforts and our disdain for the music.

Actually, if you could filter out the sounds created by the guest percussion soloist and just listen to the orchestra’s backup, there was music to be heard. But I thought I was watching a symphonic version of This Is Spinal Tap, with Michael McKean as the percussionist, acting the part by pretentiously parading around the stage in anticipation of the next singular (as in one, not as in special) note he would tap out on a variety of paraphernalia on the front of the stage that blocked our view of half the orchestra.

To be fair (as much as it pains me), of the four of us together at the concert, one appreciated the composer’s efforts. So our group rating was above the musical equivalent of the Mendoza Line. But to me, what I was hearing wasn’t music (much like, I concede, some of our parents thought of rock and roll). Perhaps, however, it could be described as some non-electronic form of noise music (a term I had not heard of before looking up the definition of music).

Project Inclusion String Quartet – July 17 and 26, 2018 – Washington Square Park and Lake Shore Park

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If you didn’t get a chance to see the wonderful Project Inclusion String Quartet this summer at one of their outdoor concerts in various city parks, don’t worry, you can see them next summer, except it will be a whole new quartet, made up of new Fellows.

“Project Inclusion is a unique training opportunity for singers and string players from diverse backgrounds traditionally underrepresented in the symphonic orchestral and choral world.” That description certainly applies to this year’s quartet, one of whom is from Havana, and another of whom, perhaps more impressively, made it to Chicago from rural Texas.

Their last concert, in Lake Shore Park, highlighted a couple of challenges of playing in the elements. First, one always has to deal with the wind. A website I found about playing outdoors notes that “[y]ou can never have too many clothespins for the wind.”

And, indeed, the quartet used the largest clothespins I’ve ever seen to hold their music in place. They could have held Shaquille O’Neal’s clothes out to dry on the line with them. This led me to find a website that lists 15 smart uses for clothespins, none of which involve clothes.

Second, while the music was delightful, the background to the Lake Shore Park performance suggested to me a Fellini movie with a John Cage soundtrack. There were children doing cartwheels on the lawn, runners doing wind sprints on the track, and dogs catching frisbees, while other dogs barked, and buses roared by.

The quartet was exposed to other Chicago ambient sounds as they introduced and performed with the Grant Park Symphony in Millennium Park on July 18. There one has to deal with sirens, cicadas, the occasional helicopter, and, in the audience, the guy sitting behind you who thinks he’s whispering.

 

Mark and Anne Burnell – Fourth Presbyterian Church Noonday Concert – July 20, 2018

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My faith now has been restored in the Church’s outdoor jazz concerts, even when they’re indoors because of rain. The Burnells were a joy to see. Their arrangements were lively. There was humor and energy. Mark rocked the piano and did a great impression of a bass fiddle.

The Burnells appear at churches with some regularity. And, in addition to other venues at which they both perform, Mark’s trio regularly plays at the Tortoise Supper Club on State Street, without Anne, as a way, I suppose, of keeping the separation between church and State Street.

I haven’t seen their act before (though I would gladly see it again), so I have nothing against which to compare this performance, but they didn’t seem to let the venue restrict their playlist, which included the double-entendred (an adjective I just invented) Cy Coleman ditty, The Tennis Song, from City of Angels.

During the performance, Anne mentioned that she was wearing jewelry given to her by a couple friends in the audience, that she liked to wear the jewelry as a way of having her friends with her wherever she goes, but that she now had enough jewelry, so, if anyone wanted to give her gift, she could use some underwear. Something to think about if we get a group together to see her sing sometime in the future.

At the end of the concert, before two encores that pleasantly extended ten minutes past the scheduled conclusion of the program, the crowd rose in unison to give the Burnells a standing ovation. That seemed like no small feat given the average age of the Noonday Concert patrons (which doesn’t lend itself to them rising quickly from their seats), until I discovered that Anne also does fitness instruction for seniors.

Summer Festivals – July 15, 2018

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I could have gone to the Square Roots Music Fest, the Windy City Smokeout (where I could have eaten beef belly burnt ends, or not), the Roscoe Village Burger Fest, the Southport Art & Music Festival, or the Dearborn Garden Walk, but I chose to go to the Chinatown Summer Fair, which was free and worth every penny of that.

The Dearborn Garden Walk would have been the most convenient, but I’ve been to the Tuileries Garden in Paris and the Butchart Gardens on Vancouver Island, so why would I pay $35 to see someone’s backyard?

I opted against the Southport Art & Music Festival because I had walked past it the day before, after it closed, only to encounter an unusually foul aroma coming from somewhere in the vicinity (perhaps from a surfeit of skunks) on my way to the Mercury Theater to see Avenue Q, which unfortunately was cancelled due to the illness of one of the actors. I posited that one of the puppets had tasted, after that day’s matinee, whatever I had smelled, and was now retching up felt at the local emergency room or tailor shop.

The Chinatown Summer Fair included a petting zoo of goats, but, alas, no goat yoga, which, as a result, remains on my bucket list. There also was a meager lion dance (a line dance would have been better), and a basketball shooting contest where the two people I briefly watched couldn’t even hit the rim from 15 feet. Confident that I could do better, I walked away to avoid personal embarrassment.

The Fair included a performance by the Jesse White Tumbling Team, but so does every other event in Chicago. Next year I think I’ll opt for the Square Roots Music Fest. After all, I was a math major for a while.

Beckie Menzie and Tom Michael, cabaret – Fourth Presbyterian Church – July 13, 2018

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I was ten minutes late for the performance because I was tied up on a conference call (yes, even in retirement, there is the occasional conference call). I wish the call had gone longer.

I know Menzie and Michael perform together a lot around town and that, in addition, Menzie is a sought after arranger and accompanist. But how do you make I’ve Got Rhythm boring? Did the fact that it was Friday the 13th have anything to do with it? How about the partial solar eclipse in India today?

I imagined Gershwin turning over in his grave, which, since we were in Fourth Presbyterian’s courtyard, made me think of Elegy in a Country Churchyard, which I’m sure I’ve never read (or wanted to), but probably have seen as a Jeopardy answer numerous times. I tried to take my mind off such thoughts by visualizing Sutton Foster tap dancing to the song. That always helps.

According to Wikipedia, cabaret “is mainly distinguished by the performance venue, which might be a pub, a restaurant or a nightclub with a stage for performances.” That was the problem. The church didn’t serve alcohol.

I would have gotten up and left, but it was hot and I had a seat in the shade, so instead I pulled out my cell phone and checked my emails. It also helped that a couple seemingly mutant pigeons (at least by their odd coloring) landed on the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, and one of them did its best imitation of the Drinking Bird toy for several minutes.

I’m not a religious person, but, since I was at a church, I decided to pray during the final song, McArthur Park (voted in 1992 as the worst song ever recorded), and my prayers were answered, as there was no encore.

Music and Poetry – Rush Hour Concert – July 10, 2018

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I went for the music and suffered through the poetry.

I could have just skipped the program altogether, but the scheduled gypsy music sounded promising, if unpronounceable – Hullámzó Balaton, Op. 33 (Jenő Hubay), Dža more (Sylvie Bodorová), Zigeunerweisen, Op. 20 (Pablo de Sarasate), Hungarian Dance No. 1 in G Minor (Johannes Brahms) (okay I can pronounce that one), and, in fact, was beautiful and extremely well-performed by the Civitas Ensemble.

Someone from the Poetry Foundation recited the poetry between the musical selections. The first poem was short. The second was longer and more complex. The third was much longer and dealt with the horrors of World War II, so, not really fun. I would have preferred it if at least one of them would have started with a line like “There once was a man from Nantucket.”

I took a poetry writing course in college. The best part of the class was the experiment the students conducted on the professor. The professor had a habit of wandering around the classroom as he spoke, which led us, pranksters that we were, to attempt to manipulate his behavior. So we selected a corner of the room as the spot to which we wanted to lead him and proceeded, in a noticeable way, to pay a lot more attention to him when he approached that corner than when he went anywhere else in the room. Eventually we got him to curl up like a ball by the window in the selected corner, seemingly without the slightest recognition of what we had done. So, while I may not have learned to appreciate poetry, my psychology class was fruitful.

Tchaikovsky and Bolcom – Grant Park Music Festival – Millennium Park – July 7, 2018

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I claim no expertise when it comes to classical music, but I know what I like. The Chicago Tribune critic, Howard Reich, didn’t like the Grant Park Symphony’s rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Fifth Symphony the night before, but I very much enjoyed the piece.

On the other hand, Reich raved about William Bolcom’s Symphony No. 4. I guess I can’t disagree, because I didn’t stay to hear it after the intermission, originally because I saw the scariest hyphenated word in the English language as part of the piece’s description, that is mezzo-soprano.

I don’t do mezzo-soprano. I’d rather hear the Archies do Sugar, Sugar. Given that a mezzo-soprano would be singing, I probably wouldn’t have been able to understand the lyrics as sung, which, upon reading them in the program, would’ve been a saving grace.

My pre-concert decision to leave at intermission was reinforced by two couples I overheard while riding the bus to the concert. One couple had been to the same performance the night before and said they were coming back only for the Tchaikovsky, as they hadn’t liked the Bolcom. Take that Howard.

Bolcom is a Pulitzer Prize winner, among many other accolades. I don’t care. I didn’t like his piece, Remembered Fathers, when I heard it performed on June 26 at the Rush Hour concert.

And, though I hadn’t remembered at first, it turns out that Bolcom also composed the opera A Wedding, based on the 1978 Robert Altman movie, which was the first and, I hope, last opera I’ve ever attended. I had an amazing seat, in the 12th row, just across the aisle from Altman himself, who may or may not have dozed off once or twice during the performance. I unfortunately, stayed awake the whole time.

The Buddy Holly Story – American Blues Theater at Stage 773 – July 6, 2018

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Spoiler alert – Buddy Holly dies. He does, however, return to play two encores.

Interestingly enough, the big number at the end of this show is a Chuck Berry song, Johnny B. Goode, which is made even more interesting by the fact that the last song Holly actually played at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake Iowa, before his ill-fated decision to fly to the next destination so he could get his laundry done (couldn’t he just turn his underwear inside out?), was a different Berry song, Brown Eyed Handsome Man.

This reminded me of the Chuck Berry Greatest Hits double album I owned in college, from which my roommate, Wasil Pahuchy, Jr., accidentally broke one of the records. Though Wasil could have squashed me like a bug (and could chug a pitcher of beer, for what that’s worth – ah, Friday afternoons at Kam’s), he lived in mortal fear that I would retaliate against him for destroying my most prized possession.

I never saw Buddy Holly in concert (I did see Chuck Berry on three occasions), though I have seen the Gary Busey movie and three different live productions featuring doppelgangers, of which this was my favorite, with the lead at one point playing a guitar while holding it behind behind his neck, which, if you’re interested, you can learn to do on the Guitar Player website.

The Buddy Holly story would be unbelievable if it weren’t true, but the music is the reason to go. I don’t know who had more fun, the performers or the audience.

On the way out, an audience member asked a cast member, who had come back out on stage to put away his guitar, whether the producers of the show had looked for musicians who also were actors, or actors who also were musicians. His answer was “yes.”