It’s interesting to observe how delicate a thing is a chamber music concert. The smallest annoyances can mushroom and ruin a whole show. Vladimir Feltsman appeared at Nordstrom Recital hall in Seattle today as part of the Amadeus! Mozart Festival, playing the 10th piano sonata (C major, K. 330) and, along with string players from the Seattle Symphony, the G minor piano quartet (K. 487). After the intermission we heard Shostakovich’s warhorse E minor piano trio.
A small thing–a tiny thing: before the start of the show, would-be audience members piled in front of the waiting doors (the lady at the ticket booth had told us the doors were already open, but it turned out untrue). By the time the doors opened two lines had formed for the door near us. We stood in one, and both lines wove through the doorway without problems. But when I and my friend arrived at the door, a sour-looking usher by the name of Iva stopped us and told us in no uncertain terms that ‘the line is over there,’ pointing to the end of the other line. A bit taken aback by this (she had let everyone before us through) we got out of line and found the end of the other line. Looking back we saw Iva immediately ushering the next people who had been behind us through just like the people before us.
Silly to become upset. No doubt a mere mistake on her part. Childish, certainly, for me to be still irritated when sitting down in the auditorium. She probably just volunteers there, after all. But still I think perhaps this colored my take on the music to follow. How can one help it? These things are important, they are a part of the audience’s experience and should be controlled, as with any other element of the performance.
After we sat down, the same usher arrived and snapped at a poor innocent young man that he must remove his coat from the seat next to him so others could sit there. The coat was in fact there to save the space for his friend. Perhaps the request was not an unreasonable one, but the delivery was quite poor and unnecessarily autocratic.
But on to music. Feltsman led with the Sonata. This is a lovely bit of Mozart fluff and his rendering was unimpeachable, particularly the first movement, with all its liquid runs and noodling. It was, to use Mozart’s own metaphor, as smooth as oil. The Steinway grand is a thunderous instrument, difficult to control in Mozart–it can sometimes sound a bit like a Siberian tiger in ballet shoes–and the second movement, with its repeated notes in the bass, occasionally suffered slightly, but on the whole it went off beautifully; not too slow, but singing and graceful. The third is one of those playfully Mozartian things that can really make an audience sit up and take notice.
It almost even made me sit up and take notice. Almost. Unfortunately it was my fate to sit right next to a woman who literally snored through the entire performance. Her eyes were open, but she was snoring. Really. Snoring. Well, where does heavy wheezing leave off and light snoring begin? In any case, it was terribly distracting. Why can’t there be some kind of test for basic control of bodily functions for people before they are allowed entry to gigs like this? The man behind me, too, kept hacking up something awful in his throat, gurgling and grunting.
Between the wheezing woman, the rude usher and the emphysemic man I was really not able to judge the second number–the piano quartet. It was more Mozart, that was certain. Feltsman did nothing worthy of criticism, Mozart did nothing worthy of applause. The string players–including Amos Yang on cello, Maria Larinoff on fiddle and Mara Gearman playing with a lovely, almost cello-like tone on the viola–were clear and professional. But to use Virgil Thompson’s phrase, I was much too aware of the passage of time. Why do they put on these Mozart festivals, anyway? I can’t understand why his music is played as more than an occasional novelty in this age. But that is another story.
And, as it turned out, all was not lost. During the intermission we moved to new seats, far from the wheezing woman. The first three movements of the Shostakovich second piano trio were a total success–Yang’s work on the cello particularly so. The Shostakovich is one of the true masterpieces of the middle 20th century and its reputation is well-deserved–and despite some out-of-focus rhythms and perhaps a slightly dramatically flat reading in the fourth movement, the piece was one of the most positive musical experiences this reviewer has had in many months.
To-do list for those who put on such programs:
First, I know there is little to be done about the snoring woman, but we do pay a fair amount of money to be there, so try to encourage a professional demeanor in staff. Small things can have a big effect. Second, even if you think Mozart is the greatest composer who ever lived, remember that he is not the only composer who ever lived. And third, please, please bring people like Feltsman and works like the Shostakovich back just as often as you like.
Evans Winner
Seattle, Washington
January, 2006