indessed roscivs

Bumbershoot Event #1: The Goldberg Variations

I’m a huge fan of the Goldberg Variations—I own probably a dozen different recordings, and have listened to them countless times. However, this was my first time listening to a live performance, which made it completely worth it just for that. It was fascinating. I’d anticipate the complex passages and hear the pianist stumble or succeed, slow down or muddle through. I’d expect a repeated passage and get none—or vice-versa. I’d cringe as she failed to emphasize a favorite passage, or swoon as she played a variation more melodically than Gould or Pi-hsien. Every difference—whether a mistake, a stylistic flourish, or a mere tempo change—was taken in and thoroughly appreciated.

The pianist, however, was not the intended highlight of the performance. Each variation was accompanied by a (usually solo) dancer, interpreting each movement with their motions and gestures. Although some were extremely creative, and some made me laugh out loud, overall I was disappointed. Many of the reasons why I love the Goldberg Variations are because of the intricacies of the piece that are not evident from casual listening. For example, although each of the thirty “variations” has a completely different theme and motif than the Aria, the common thread that holds them all together is the bass line, played by the left hand—with very little variation, it is nearly the same in every piece. Another eccentricity is that every third variation is a canon, where the first voice starts out with some melody, and then the second voice joins in shortly after, playing identical notes as the first. Each subsequent canon adjusts the pitch of the second voice, raising it a note every time, producing wondrously rich and complex harmonies.

The dancers, despite their skill, did nothing (so far as I could tell) to riff off these intricacies. They didn’t mention them or follow them or exploit them—in fact, they seemed completely ignorant of them. I was, to say the least, more than a little disappointed that the immense depths of the piece were left unremarked on, leaving the audience to attempt to detect those little beauties on their own.

Bumbershoot Event #2: Improvised Shakespeare

An awesomely hilarious improvised rendition of “Flying Potato” (the audience-suggested title of the play) in the style of the Immortal Bard. Prominent features included: an ensyphiled nursemaid, an Englishman with a bad Italian accent, “two guys one cup,” an oliphant from an African safari, and imagined ziplines galore. They kept the crowd laughing for nearly an hour—an impressive feat for any improv troupe.

Bumbershoot Event #3: Matt & Kim

I didn’t know anything about these folks, they just happened to be playing at the stage where my uncle and family were sitting. On the way there, I noticed that I was probably not the target demographic—everyone seemed to be thirteen or fourteen at the oldest. That was a bit of a shock after the previous two events, where I was among the youngest (rather than among the oldest). My cousins remarked that they felt a little pervy just being there. The music wasn’t actually half bad (at least compared to what I was expecting), but I was glad I was sitting far enough in the back for the percussion’s shock waves to have dissipated enough to only half-deafen me while making my innards reverberate. Drums so loud I can feel them (and not gently, either) has never been one of my concert favs.

Bumbershoot Event #4: Eric Hutchinson

I lay down on the grass and read Lawrence Lessig’s “Free Culture” to the tunes of Eric Hutchinson. It was a relaxing, soothing afternoon.

Bumbershoot Event #5: Sheryl Crow

I’m a big enough fan of Sheryl’s to know how to spell her name—so I figured that was enough to go to her concert as well. And she played all my favorite songs—a brilliant end to a brilliant day.