In brief: As a scholar, as a technician, as a chef de l'orchestre, Helmuth Rilling is outstanding. As a musician, he fails miserably.
The first few bars of the first chorus summed the entire three hours up. Although the Taipei Philharmonic is a modern ensemble, Rilling paid immaculate attention to technical details for baroque performance: no vibrato, non-legato, even the choirs' German pronunciation was excellent – better, even, than the alto soloist's. But at what a musical cost! Anyone who knows about period performance will appreciate the fact that baroque musicians didn't have our modern concept of legato, but that does not mean the music should sit flat without any shaping of lines; besides, isn't Bach's mastery of counterpoint supposed to be found in his multi-linear structures? In the end, I felt I could truly appreciate just how impressive Bach's music is, simply because it was still very moving even under such an unmusical baton.
In addition, with all the attention paid to accuracy, Rilling nevertheless fails to notice flaws in the very basics of music. Throughout the entire performance, the orchestra's tuning was off, sometimes resulting in truly cringeworthy clashes between the cello and organ. As a general rule, sharps were all too high, and flats were all too low. Also obvious was the fact that the orchestra's strings had a hurried crash course in baroque playing. It is easy to tell the strings to play senza vibrato, but it's almost impossible to teach them to use only the bow for producing all the different shades and tone colors in one or two weeks, much less so if the conductor in question is not a string player. In the end, the strings sounded flat, dull, and thin throughout, with only superficial details adhering to baroque performance. Add bad intonation to the non-vibrato mix, and we have a disaster waiting to happen.
But, in any case, the audience's reception was fantastic. This was supposed the first Taiwanese performance of the St. Matthew Passion, and judging from the thunderous applause and countless curtain calls, future performances of such masterpieces could just as easy find such an enthusiastic audience. Let's just hope that our ears can be blessed with a performance worthy enough to be called "music".
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
YogeeTi: Breathtaking, exhilarating, uneven
As part of the 2012 Taiwan International Festival of Arts, YogeeTi has certainly benefited from funding and marketing most artists could only dream of. Much like the earlier production of The Tempest (the subject of a future entry), I was drawn to the show after seeing quite a number of reviews lauding this piece. While it was certainly great fun to watch, as I left the theatre I couldn't help but feel somewhat ambivalent toward what I had just experienced.
Much of the hype of this piece has been centered on the fashion design element, and clearly it shows: aside from the exquisite stage design and impressive use of props, the evocative lighting and excellent music all serve to create a terrific ambiance. Yet the actual dancing, however consistently brilliant it was, at times nevertheless seemed to fall flat. After a truly dazzling section where the “weaving” theme is brought into full relief through strings drawn in from the wings, accompanied by the aptly minimalistic score and the interwoven choreography, there follows a longish “showcase” with every dancer doing solos or duos, seemingly just for the sake of it. The pre-show lecture mentioned that Johan Ku caught the attention of Mourad Merzouki with a cocoon-themed exhibition, but the interaction with with cocoon costumes today, looking as if covered with moss or algae, would not have seen out of place if it were used as a filler for a stage production of Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters. Also, I failed to detect a coherent flow throughout the piece; sometimes it seemed as if the performance could just about close at the end of any section, without sacrificing anything at all.
Perhaps what I couldn't reconcile the most, though, was the sense of emptiness inside even before the first sound of applause had struck. Impressive, yes; breathtaking, yes; but a sense of connection? After sitting in my seat for more than an hour, I didn't feel I could take away anything from the experience. I was reminded of what Pak Sal said of Jérôme Bel in his interview before returning to Indonesia: his works inevitably invoke controversy, and probably justifiably so; yet this is not done for just shock value, just "for the sake of it", but because he has a strong central concept or message which cannot be conveyed anyway else. Just as I was leaving the theatre, I happened to meet a friend sitting in the row behind me; she said that she fell asleep during the middle, and frankly I don't blame her (especially since this was, after all, a matinee performance).
But in any case, the audience clearly loved today's performance; the entire hall was roaring and cheering like mad throughout the countless curtain calls, and the dancers clearly enjoyed the reception as well. And in the end, that's what matters in performance art, isn't it: never mind there is a profound message to take away, we're here to enjoy ourselves, to have a good time!
Much of the hype of this piece has been centered on the fashion design element, and clearly it shows: aside from the exquisite stage design and impressive use of props, the evocative lighting and excellent music all serve to create a terrific ambiance. Yet the actual dancing, however consistently brilliant it was, at times nevertheless seemed to fall flat. After a truly dazzling section where the “weaving” theme is brought into full relief through strings drawn in from the wings, accompanied by the aptly minimalistic score and the interwoven choreography, there follows a longish “showcase” with every dancer doing solos or duos, seemingly just for the sake of it. The pre-show lecture mentioned that Johan Ku caught the attention of Mourad Merzouki with a cocoon-themed exhibition, but the interaction with with cocoon costumes today, looking as if covered with moss or algae, would not have seen out of place if it were used as a filler for a stage production of Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters. Also, I failed to detect a coherent flow throughout the piece; sometimes it seemed as if the performance could just about close at the end of any section, without sacrificing anything at all.
Perhaps what I couldn't reconcile the most, though, was the sense of emptiness inside even before the first sound of applause had struck. Impressive, yes; breathtaking, yes; but a sense of connection? After sitting in my seat for more than an hour, I didn't feel I could take away anything from the experience. I was reminded of what Pak Sal said of Jérôme Bel in his interview before returning to Indonesia: his works inevitably invoke controversy, and probably justifiably so; yet this is not done for just shock value, just "for the sake of it", but because he has a strong central concept or message which cannot be conveyed anyway else. Just as I was leaving the theatre, I happened to meet a friend sitting in the row behind me; she said that she fell asleep during the middle, and frankly I don't blame her (especially since this was, after all, a matinee performance).
But in any case, the audience clearly loved today's performance; the entire hall was roaring and cheering like mad throughout the countless curtain calls, and the dancers clearly enjoyed the reception as well. And in the end, that's what matters in performance art, isn't it: never mind there is a profound message to take away, we're here to enjoy ourselves, to have a good time!
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