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Martin "Whooshing" in front of the Toledo, Spain historic
city center from across the Tagus River
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I was supposed to see this symphony a year ago. I had
snagged early on my coveted pair of tickets for the DSO’s performance of
Mahler’s 2nd Symphony, Resurrection, at the end of its 2009-2010
season. I spent a good portion of that spring awaiting what would be a sonic
epic that would combine orchestra and voice (many of them) to paint Mahler’s
profound views of life, death, and beyond, perhaps not without certain key
references to the Passion. I was going to experience catharsis and illumination
on a level that might have been divine.
Instead I spent that weekend on the forward deck of the
Carnival Ecstasy, happy to be with family, but continually amused at the
strange twists of fate that led to me voyaging to exotic Caw-zuh-mel,
Mecksikoh, surrounded by what could best described as the space liner from Wall-E
without the merciful Pixar gloss and the Disney guarantee that people who
looked like they ate other people would remain reasonably clothed. People
boarded as passengers and left as cargo.
Past misanthropy aside, I was electrified at the chance to
see Mahler’s Resurrection symphony live in London as part of the BBC Proms. The
BBC Proms is the world’s largest classical musical festival and consists of
concerts by the world’s best soloists, chamber groups, choirs, and orchestras
over two months from July through September. In fact, it’s still going on right
now. Normally, most seats are expensive and sell quickly. For BBC Prom 29,
Gustavo Dudamel and the Simon Bolivar Symphony Orchestra of Venezuela were
performing. They premiered to incredible popular and critical acclaim in 2007.
Just watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ZbJOE9zNjw
They’re a youth conductor and youth orchestra. Yes, no one in that video nor
anyone who performed on August 5th was over the age of 30. I’ll let
that sink in.
The seats for BBC Prom 29, featuring that orchestra performing Mahler’s Resurrection, sold out in three
hours. But for every concert, especially the popular ones, there are roughly
500 tickets for the arena floor that sold the day of the concert for 5 pounds.
Yes, 5 pounds. So what do you have to do get one? Just wait in line outside of
Royal Albert Hall the day of the concert like I did.
The queue stretched down to the end of the street, turned
and kept on stretching, stretched some more, and eventually some thousand
people later, looped back to Royal Albert Hall.
I got in line at around noon, resigning to the reality that
I would get no sight-seeing done for the day and that a return to London early
before heading stateside would be necessary. I brought lunch, water, and a
book. We were given numbers at around 2:00 so that we could have up to a half
hour to leave the line and get food, take breaks, or just wander and smirk at
those behind us in line. Because Royal Albert Hall is across from the Royal
College of Music, I was treated to a rehearsal by a brass ensemble class that
used a classroom with open windows. I also spent a good part of the afternoon
(the one afternoon where London was actually sunny/hot; lucky me) thinking
about life, perhaps the best way to preface a performance of something like
Mahler.
At around 5:30, I saw another queue form to the confusion to
nearly everyone in line.
Turns out it was just the queue for the preconcert lecture.
Naturally it was full of the older and wealthier patrons who managed to get
actual seats during that lucky three hour window during which I was likely
still asleep in Texas.
Finally, at 7:00, I had my ticket. From the moment of
entering the arena floor onward, I really can’t describe any actual emotions
other than, “Woah, this is really happening.” Royal Albert Hall itself is just
as gorgeous on the inside as on the outside. Like many others with me, I took
off my shoes and kept them off as we stood for the entire two hour performance.
The performance itself? It was as grand, dramatic, intense,
beautiful, and divine as you’d expect from a composition of its scope, if
another were to exist. I have a hard time reviewing it, despite having heard it
three times, because it’s a piece to evaluated based on an individual’s
spiritual reaction to it, not just the technical skill. Just start here and
make your own judgments: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oi7kb4U7VsE&feature=related
It’s worth your time, especially when you’re at the last movement and reading
the lyrics, which can have profound personal import. Just watch it. Trust me.
My only qualms would be about the acoustics of the Hall. The
choral work and the off-stage brass/percussion resonated with clarity and
wonderful color. When the entire 500+ person ensemble of mega-orchestra (3 sets
of timpani, anyone?), full choir, off-stage corps, organ, and voice soloists
played loudly in unison, the Hall worked magnificently, allowing each timbre to
come through despite the massive volume. Yet during passages of lower dynamics,
the group sounded a bit watery and muddled, a fault I attribute to my location
on the arena floor and not the playing itself. Still, it made me miss the Meyerson’s
modern and peerless acoustics.
When Dudamel ended the final climax, we treated them to the
longest and loudest standing ovation (okay, 500 of us were already standing)
I’ve ever participated in, a good 20 minutes.
There was a great sense of camaraderie among us in the
arena. Everyone was willing to take photos for each other (including the one of
me at the top) and unlike most DSO concerts I’ve been to, strangers freely
talked about the performance. In a way, perhaps, the concert made us better people
for a time. Here’s hoping this isn’t the last time I go to a Proms concert, but
I’ll definitely try to snag tickets next time to avoid the fun (but maybe
once-only) adventure of waiting seven hours in line.
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| Martin Whooshing from the arena floor of the Royal Albert Hall after BBC Prom 29 |
