RIPOSTE
by RIP RENSE
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FIDGETING IN DIZZY HALL. .
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(March 31, 2004)
I don't mean to harp on Disney
Hall too much. I've already trumpeted my view about The Silver Stunt on this site and in
the L.A. Times. Bass-ically, you know my position. And if you don't, I'm not
about to beat that drum again. But I do have some new notes to share. . .
I must report that Dizzy Hall---I'm telling
you, those slanted walls make me wobble---has a very serious problem with percussion.
No, no---not the fine players
who slam the timpani, tickle the triangles, and bong the gongs. I refer to amateur
soloists. Improvisers who are adding extra zing and cling and clang and stomp. I refer to
those virtuosos of auditory violence; those masters of instruments of intrusion such as:
the feet, the cell phone, the cough, the conversation, the door slam, the sneeze.
Dizzy Hall showcases their talents like no
other auditorium in the world! Hoorah for the joint's much ballyhooed acoustics! You not
only can hear a pin drop in the place, you can hear it cut the air on its way down! And I
am not alone in my opinion. I cite as evidence the behavior of none other than L.A.
Philharmonic conductor Esa-Pekka Salonen.
But allow me to digress a moment. . .
L.A. Times Music Critic Mark
Swed often reviews concerts as if Dizzy Hall is a co-performer. Interpretations ride, he
suggests, very much on acoustics--- maybe even more than on technical skill or
interpretive bent of conductor/soloist/orchestra.
For years before its opening, Swed
touted the Silver Stunt, and its sound---savaging the poor, bat-friendly Dorothy Chandler
Pavilion in the process. No less a personage than Music Center Grand Wazir Ernest
Fleischmann once cited Swed's support as perhaps the singlemost important factor in
getting Dizzy built!
And once the freakish palace opened, Mark went
on a tear---writing a parade of nearly hallucinogenic reviews that, among other things,
suggested the place might "change the world." His praise was ejaculatory; he
swooned and mooned over the new room in embarrassing verbal ecstasy.
But he was right: the acoustics
are a marvel! I have never heard such discretion and resonance of sound outside of
headphones. The sonics are so sensitive, in fact, that they magnify every grunt,
haunch-shift, foot-shuffle, nasal spasm, scratch and snort to brilliant projection and
clarity! To use Swed's favorite word in describing music, Dizzy Hall turns the body
movements and bodily functions of the crowd into a "visceral" experience! (If
that isn't redundant.)
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At last, sheer nervousness set in, as the crowd wondered just what in Disney
Hell was going on? Was this a parlor game in the Salonen Salon?
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I mean, in 30 years of sitting through concerts
in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, I can honestly say I never once heard virus-ridden sinus
cavities produce such gloriously realized ca-cough-ony! And gee whiz, when late arrivals
were seated during the music at the DCP, I could barely hear their footsteps at all! It's
true that when some concertgoers insisted on humming or even (gasp) speaking
during the music, I would hear a murmur, but heck, in Dizzy Hall, I can pick up the actual
conversation!
It's one big sounding board!
Consider:
The other night, I attended a
performance of Shostakovich's 9th symphony and Mahler's "Des Knaben Wunderhorn."
Oh, the music was well realized, but the most attention-getting performance came from the
audience.
Here is how Swed began his review of the same
evening:
"Thursday night, the Los Angeles
Philharmonic program began with the most exciting performance of Shostakovich's Symphony
No. 9. . .I've ever heard. Then came Matthias Goerne's spellbinding performance of songs
from Mahler's 'Des Knaben Wunderhorn.'. . .If the audience was uncharacteristically noisy,
this was the clamor of activity, not boredom---the result of a bolt of electricity shot
through Walt Disney Concert Hall."
What's funny, if not downright
dishonest, about Swed's latest shilling for Dizzy, is that the "clamor of
activity" began. . .before the music! Right. Swed seems to say that the crowd was
buzzed by the performance---but it was buzzing long before a single note was struck---and
what's more, much to Salonen's apparent dismay.
Here's what really happened:
As Salonen appeared, the crowd was a symphony
in fidgeting. Shostakovich's 9th? Unlikely that even a Dimitri devotee would be shot
through with a "bolt of electricity" awaiting such taut, icy, cerebral,
deliberately un-rousing musical snickering. My guess: it was just the thrill of being seen
in Dizzy Hall, probably with a little booze under the belt.
Esa-Pekka gave his usual perfunctory head bow
to customary applause as he took the podium, but then. . .he just stood there. And he
stood there a little more. After a while, he stood a bit. And in between standing there,
he also stood there. And just when you thought he had finished standing there, he did some
more standing.
What was he doing? Clearing his mind?
Chanting? Trying to remember which piece he was conducting?
No. He was waiting for the
Night Before Christmas, when not a creature was stirring, not even Mickey Mouse.
At last the fidgeting ratcheted
down to something approaching concert hall "quiet." Problem is, in Dizzy Hall,
this isn't quiet. It's more on the order of a large crowd of people very, very quietly
trying to crumple paper. A sort of hiss built of squirming, throat-clearing,
program-rustling, mumbling. One of Swed's heroes, John Cage, would have loved it! Nocturne
for Silent Orchestra and Waiting Audience. Concerto for Haunch Shifting and Continuo.
And Esa-Pekka. . .continued to wait! Long
enough for me to think up my own Dr. Seuss rhyme just for the occasion:
So he waited, and waited, and waited, did
he/ And waited some more, and still more, you see / He waited so long, you'd swear you
were wrong/ To think there was any more wait left to be!
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Salonen, famously annoyed by the plumped patter of subscriber feet when
the hall first opened, soldiered on.
_____________________________________________________
After a while, the audience wondered what
Pekka was waiting for, and began squirming more loudly, then whispering, and then. .
.grumbling! Yet Pekka remained still as sheet music. At last, sheer nervousness set in, as
the crowd wondered just what in Disney Hell was going on? Was this a parlor game in the
Salonen Salon? A bit of conductorial comedy? Yes, that must be it---and, you guessed it,
folks---
The crowd began to. . .laugh.
Titters and giggles rippled around the weird
interior of the building (which always makes me think of looking down a whale's
throat.)
But Esa didn't move a Pekka.
And to think: all this entertainment
happened even before a single note was played! Wow! I was getting the most out of my $35
last-row-in-top-balcony seat!
At length, the laughter gave way to complete
mystification, then. . .another round of nervous laughter. Perhaps a full two
minutes passed. The next phase would have certainly been irritation, rhythmic clapping, or
booing, and possibly sensing this, the conductor finally gave up and gave the downbeat.
But the show wasn't over.
Shostakovich was augmented by the following
solos not found in the score: clomp-clomp-clomp of aleatoric meter as latecomers
were seated; a ringing cell phone that was actually louder than the ringing triangle in
the fourth movement; thundering ker-flunks of slamming doors somewhere in the
building; a protracted conversation from a gentleman who perhaps thought he was in his
living room, with the stereo on (Dizzy Hall Dame Deborah Borda should be thrilled, having
dubbed Dizzy "L.A.'s living room"); and the usual universe of ah-choos
and ahems so unrestrained that you'd think they originated in the Ozarks.
Salonen, famously annoyed by the plumped patter
of subscriber feet when the hall first opened, soldiered on. Between movements, he again
employed the "wait or faint" method of hushing the herd, finally evidencing
perhaps just a touch of petulance as he took his "attention, orchestra" pose
with such suddenness---such aggression (disgust?)---as to provoke yet another round of
laughter in the audience. Why, that cute little music director, you could almost
hear the audience think, he's having fun with us again! What a cut-up!
At last, Salonen apparently threw
in the towel, barely betraying another whit of impatience with his surprise musical
collaborators. Until, that is, the conclusion of a beguiling, at times downright arresting
rendition of "Wunderhorn" songs with baritone Matthias Goerne. Here the
conductor made a point of holding arms aloft well after the music ended, leaving them up
for a good twenty or thirty seconds to stave off the automatic blunderbuss standing,
raving ovation that greets every piece since audiences began coming for the
"show," rather than substance.
And by golly, the crowd was finally cowed.
There was not so much as a whispered "bravo" before Pekka's palms dropped at his
sides.
Guess he showed 'em!
So: a warning to future visitors to the
hyper-sensitive echo chamber that is Dizzy Hall: walk softly when Esa-Pekka carries that
big stick. And a word to Swed: the "bolt of electricity" you describe may be
your own.
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