An Evening at the Concert Hall
April 29th, 2023
Good morning, afternoon, or evening!
I am a classical music enthusiast. Ok, I love a lot of different styles, but classical music is high up that list. Right now I am still a bit of a newbie when it comes to my classical music knowledge, but I do have a favorite piece. And a week ago it was finally time. It was finally time to see that piece performed live. Let me tell you that little story.
The ‘original’ version
The first piano concerto of Tchaikovsky. A magnificent piece with huge piano virtuosity and powerful orchestration. The past year I have been on the lookout for a live performance of this piece, and there it finally was: the 21st of April, Amsterdam Concertgebouw. I had the feeling one of my sisters would like it too, so I asked her to come with me. It’s always a bit of an issue who to ask because if that person ends up not liking it, it’s going to be a very tough, long, and boring evening. But I had good hopes.
The day of the concert I had a bit of a tricky planning. Because I ended up coming home from a holiday with a friend on the morning of the concert. It even got a little bit tricky when our boat had a delay that felt endless (but ended up being 2,5 hours). In the end, I had just enough time to get home and prepare myself. And there we went, my sister and I, to Amsterdam!
First of all, it was great just having a little trip with my sister. I am the youngest of quite a big family – two brothers and two sisters – and all my siblings are married. It doesn’t happen very often that I have some quality time with one of them. First, we went to a great pizza place, SUGO, and then it was time to head to the concert building.
I am a classical music enthusiast. Ok, I love a lot of different styles, but classical music is high up that list. Right now I am still a bit of a newbie when it comes to my classical music knowledge, but I do have a favorite piece. And a week ago it was finally time. It was finally time to see that piece performed live. Let me tell you that little story.
The ‘original’ version
The first piano concerto of Tchaikovsky. A magnificent piece with huge piano virtuosity and powerful orchestration. The past year I have been on the lookout for a live performance of this piece, and there it finally was: the 21st of April, Amsterdam Concertgebouw. I had the feeling one of my sisters would like it too, so I asked her to come with me. It’s always a bit of an issue who to ask because if that person ends up not liking it, it’s going to be a very tough, long, and boring evening. But I had good hopes.
The day of the concert I had a bit of a tricky planning. Because I ended up coming home from a holiday with a friend on the morning of the concert. It even got a little bit tricky when our boat had a delay that felt endless (but ended up being 2,5 hours). In the end, I had just enough time to get home and prepare myself. And there we went, my sister and I, to Amsterdam!
First of all, it was great just having a little trip with my sister. I am the youngest of quite a big family – two brothers and two sisters – and all my siblings are married. It doesn’t happen very often that I have some quality time with one of them. First, we went to a great pizza place, SUGO, and then it was time to head to the concert building.
* * *
Let me tell you, I have been in some beautiful buildings in my life, but the Concertgebouw is now very high on that list. It’s a truly incredible building. The only concert building I know is De Doelen in Rotterdam, of which the main hall is fine, but the rest of the building is designed in that building style from the 60s I think. The time when grey was a very popular color. Some concrete, some dark wood, some more concrete, some shiny leather seats, oh, and some more concrete. Now, I cannot blame the Doelen for not being old (let’s call it unexpected circumstances) but the concert building of Amsterdam is a magnificent classical building from the 1880s and, sorry Rotterdam, way more impressive than De Doelen.
The outside of the building is already nice, although it falls a little short when compared to the very near Rijksmuseum (I never knew the Rijksmuseum was that big; it’s like a proper castle! Sorry, I am culturally kind of all right, but haven’t been in Amsterdam that often :)). But the inside makes you fall silent. Red carpets, limestone walls, high ceilings, huge paintings; everything is so perfectly designed in that classical style, and the whole building breathes an honor to many important composers, conductors, and soloists. And then the main hall, with the red chairs, beautifully decorated walls and ceilings, the wooden stage with a huge organ at the back, and those long podium entrance stairs that everyone wants to walk. It’s hard to describe, but truly, going to a concert there, solely to see the building, would already be worth it.
The outside of the building is already nice, although it falls a little short when compared to the very near Rijksmuseum (I never knew the Rijksmuseum was that big; it’s like a proper castle! Sorry, I am culturally kind of all right, but haven’t been in Amsterdam that often :)). But the inside makes you fall silent. Red carpets, limestone walls, high ceilings, huge paintings; everything is so perfectly designed in that classical style, and the whole building breathes an honor to many important composers, conductors, and soloists. And then the main hall, with the red chairs, beautifully decorated walls and ceilings, the wooden stage with a huge organ at the back, and those long podium entrance stairs that everyone wants to walk. It’s hard to describe, but truly, going to a concert there, solely to see the building, would already be worth it.
* * *
The piece was going to be performed by the Concertgebouworkest of Amsterdam. First, they were going to play another shorter piece, only for strings. It was the first time this piece would be performed and the composer was also attending this concert. The concert was not conducted by their standard conductor but by a woman named Mirga Grazinyte-Tyla. The doors next to the organ opened, and she walked down those long stairs toward the orchestra.
This first piece was quite experimental and very impressive. If you aren’t sure about how big the role of a conductor is, in this piece, it was extremely clear. Mirga conducts extremely punctually and clearly; you could see and hear exactly how the orchestra responded to her conducting. It was a beautiful piece to see being performed, and it brought a kind of tension to the hall. I also have to say it was a little long and unstructured for my untrained ears :).
After this piece, the whole setup changed. A huge grand piano was lifted from under the stage. The rest of the orchestra joined (or so I thought), and when it was all rearranged the pianist, Gabriela Montero, and the conductor walked down those stairs. The room became quiet and I knew exactly what was going to happen.
But I didn’t know exactly what was going to happen.
This first piece was quite experimental and very impressive. If you aren’t sure about how big the role of a conductor is, in this piece, it was extremely clear. Mirga conducts extremely punctually and clearly; you could see and hear exactly how the orchestra responded to her conducting. It was a beautiful piece to see being performed, and it brought a kind of tension to the hall. I also have to say it was a little long and unstructured for my untrained ears :).
After this piece, the whole setup changed. A huge grand piano was lifted from under the stage. The rest of the orchestra joined (or so I thought), and when it was all rearranged the pianist, Gabriela Montero, and the conductor walked down those stairs. The room became quiet and I knew exactly what was going to happen.
But I didn’t know exactly what was going to happen.
* * *
A great part about knowing a piece very well beforehand is what I mentioned with that first piece. If I don’t know a piece, especially when it’s over 30 minutes long, it’s quite hard to follow the coherency of the piece. But after I listen to it more and more, it slowly starts to make sense. After this piece, they played the 3rd symphony of Weinberg which I liked a bit less, partly because I felt like it was a little more general, a bit more like movie music, and I didn’t like the themes that much. But I also liked it less because I just didn’t know the piece. Every 30 seconds was a new surprise, and not always a pleasant one.
But there is a problem with knowing a piece very well beforehand. Because interpretation plays such a huge role, much bigger than you might think. The one I love most is conducted by Herbert von Karajan and played by Yevgeny Kissin (who was 17 or 18 years old at the time, which is completely insane). I have listened so often to that version that that version has become my ‘true version’ of this piece, my ‘original’. But now, in the concert hall, I get another version. Like a cover of the one I know.
The second problem is that I am a pianist :). Don’t get me wrong, I love being a pianist and I am grateful to be one. But when someone asks me ‘Who do you think is the best musician in that band’ I’ll rarely say ‘the pianist’. I know the piano, I know how it should sound, I know how it should not sound. I know my preferences for pedaling, I know my preferences for tempo, I know my preferences for dynamics. I hear it when someone plays something thought through, but I also hear it when their hands simply land on the right key.
The piece started and the first thing I noticed was that they played it pretty fast. And not slightly, but a lot faster than I remembered. At first, I thought this was due to the pianist, but when we arrived at the longer solo piano part I heard that Gabriela was playing closer to the versions I know. When it was almost time for the orchestra to enter, I heard the pianist speeding up again. Besides the speed, I think the pianist needed some time to start up (that’s where ‘the curse’ of playing piano yourself comes into play ;)). I could hear it wasn’t fully spot on, and the lines weren’t played fluently.
I was quite surprised and it took me some time to enjoy the performance (luckily a classical piece gives you plenty of time for that). As mentioned before, when the pianist arrived at the longer solo piano piece I caught on again. It’s a beautiful part that slows down a lot. Every note is played with huge attention and listened to with even more attention. Every note fills the hall. And when it comes to an almost silence, it suddenly becomes bigger, speeds up, the orchestra enters, and together they build up to a magnificent climax.
These problems with different expectations are easy to fix. It was simply unexpected this first time. As you might have noticed, I talked about how what she played was different than what I remembered. Nowadays I try not to compare to what I remembered, but what I prefer. One of the pieces I have heard the most different versions of is Mozart’s Requiem (I am going to write more about that piece in a future story). That piece consists of around 15 different parts. It is so interesting to hear all interpretations of all those parts. Interpretations mostly in speed and dynamics. I know that I like the more bombastic-sounding interpretations, but I might need to learn to appreciate the subtler ones.
Although the experience was different than I expected, it was still beautiful. And it is still the most beautiful classical piece I know. But I never thought about the fact that there is actually no original version of such a piece. In pop music, there is always an original and some covers. But in classical music, this is rarely the case. Maybe, if the composer is also a conductor or soloist, you could say that that’s the original, but in most cases, there is just a huge pool of interpretations. And the interpretation you listen to the most, that’s probably the interpretation you’ll see as ‘the original’. Well, unless you’re listening to Glenn Gould. May I call him the classical equivalent of a cover artist?
Where in classical music a lot of people are focused on portraying exactly what the composer meant, I think we should also see the beauty of interpretation, the collaboration between the composer and the conductor. I like to see it this way: a composer composes a piece, and the conductor (and soloist) plays it in the most beautiful way they possibly can. Why would a conductor neglect his expertise and only follow what the composer initially meant?
But there is a problem with knowing a piece very well beforehand. Because interpretation plays such a huge role, much bigger than you might think. The one I love most is conducted by Herbert von Karajan and played by Yevgeny Kissin (who was 17 or 18 years old at the time, which is completely insane). I have listened so often to that version that that version has become my ‘true version’ of this piece, my ‘original’. But now, in the concert hall, I get another version. Like a cover of the one I know.
The second problem is that I am a pianist :). Don’t get me wrong, I love being a pianist and I am grateful to be one. But when someone asks me ‘Who do you think is the best musician in that band’ I’ll rarely say ‘the pianist’. I know the piano, I know how it should sound, I know how it should not sound. I know my preferences for pedaling, I know my preferences for tempo, I know my preferences for dynamics. I hear it when someone plays something thought through, but I also hear it when their hands simply land on the right key.
The piece started and the first thing I noticed was that they played it pretty fast. And not slightly, but a lot faster than I remembered. At first, I thought this was due to the pianist, but when we arrived at the longer solo piano part I heard that Gabriela was playing closer to the versions I know. When it was almost time for the orchestra to enter, I heard the pianist speeding up again. Besides the speed, I think the pianist needed some time to start up (that’s where ‘the curse’ of playing piano yourself comes into play ;)). I could hear it wasn’t fully spot on, and the lines weren’t played fluently.
I was quite surprised and it took me some time to enjoy the performance (luckily a classical piece gives you plenty of time for that). As mentioned before, when the pianist arrived at the longer solo piano piece I caught on again. It’s a beautiful part that slows down a lot. Every note is played with huge attention and listened to with even more attention. Every note fills the hall. And when it comes to an almost silence, it suddenly becomes bigger, speeds up, the orchestra enters, and together they build up to a magnificent climax.
These problems with different expectations are easy to fix. It was simply unexpected this first time. As you might have noticed, I talked about how what she played was different than what I remembered. Nowadays I try not to compare to what I remembered, but what I prefer. One of the pieces I have heard the most different versions of is Mozart’s Requiem (I am going to write more about that piece in a future story). That piece consists of around 15 different parts. It is so interesting to hear all interpretations of all those parts. Interpretations mostly in speed and dynamics. I know that I like the more bombastic-sounding interpretations, but I might need to learn to appreciate the subtler ones.
Although the experience was different than I expected, it was still beautiful. And it is still the most beautiful classical piece I know. But I never thought about the fact that there is actually no original version of such a piece. In pop music, there is always an original and some covers. But in classical music, this is rarely the case. Maybe, if the composer is also a conductor or soloist, you could say that that’s the original, but in most cases, there is just a huge pool of interpretations. And the interpretation you listen to the most, that’s probably the interpretation you’ll see as ‘the original’. Well, unless you’re listening to Glenn Gould. May I call him the classical equivalent of a cover artist?
Where in classical music a lot of people are focused on portraying exactly what the composer meant, I think we should also see the beauty of interpretation, the collaboration between the composer and the conductor. I like to see it this way: a composer composes a piece, and the conductor (and soloist) plays it in the most beautiful way they possibly can. Why would a conductor neglect his expertise and only follow what the composer initially meant?
* * *
Let me tell you a bit about the rest of the concert, because, if the rest of the Tchaikovsky piece didn’t already restore my trust in that pianist: after the piece she asked the audience for a melody on which she could improvise. It landed on the melody of Summertime. And what she improvised was… pretty incredible. And long, but in an interesting and insanely impressive way. When she was finished the hall broke out in applause, she bowed and walked away on those same stairs.
She came back, bowed again, walked away, came back with the conductor, bowed twice, walked away, came bac… well you probably know how it goes. Pretty funny to see how that works in a concert hall. Because the leaving and returning only stop when the audience stops applauding. As long as the audience keeps applauding, they will come back. I saw a video a little while ago of the last performance of Phantom of the Opera from a specific group. Operas but also plays and musicals can get played over decades. So ‘the last performance’ of an opera is a pretty special occasion. The applause took over 30 minutes.
After the break, it was time for Weinberg. I mentioned that I thought the rest of the orchestra joined for Tchaikovsky. Well, for the Weinberg piece, the orchestra was ‘slightly expanded’. Man, those were a lot of people. The stage was filled up to its borders, with something that looked like 100 musicians (my sister thought 70, and because I am quite terrible when it comes to estimations she was probably right). As said, it wasn’t my favorite piece, but it is still great to see and hear such a huge group of insanely good musicians together.
She came back, bowed again, walked away, came back with the conductor, bowed twice, walked away, came bac… well you probably know how it goes. Pretty funny to see how that works in a concert hall. Because the leaving and returning only stop when the audience stops applauding. As long as the audience keeps applauding, they will come back. I saw a video a little while ago of the last performance of Phantom of the Opera from a specific group. Operas but also plays and musicals can get played over decades. So ‘the last performance’ of an opera is a pretty special occasion. The applause took over 30 minutes.
After the break, it was time for Weinberg. I mentioned that I thought the rest of the orchestra joined for Tchaikovsky. Well, for the Weinberg piece, the orchestra was ‘slightly expanded’. Man, those were a lot of people. The stage was filled up to its borders, with something that looked like 100 musicians (my sister thought 70, and because I am quite terrible when it comes to estimations she was probably right). As said, it wasn’t my favorite piece, but it is still great to see and hear such a huge group of insanely good musicians together.
* * *
And that was pretty much it. I have to say, going to the concert is such an impressive experience. It is just so huge. And what I find beautiful about it, is that every single note is acoustic. And every single person in that 2000-headed audience is just listening. Listening with full focus. No phones, no people coming in late, no people running out early. Just silence (some occasional coughs left aside, I mean, in the end, it’s almost like an elderly home). So, if you even only have a slight interest in orchestral music, I would say, just try it once. It’s a huge experience.
Danny Yellow
Danny Yellow