Igor Levit- yes, the guy who made THAT Hammerklavier recording- stopped over in London recently to play the Emperor with the London Philharmonia, in a concert which also featured Anna Clyne's Color Field and Dvořák's 7th symphony. It's been a LONG time since I heard a pianist in this setting, so I'm not sure whether it was being a dozen rows from the stage, or just live performances in general, or Levit- or a mixture of both- which meant that the sound felt rather slight at times, and any finer gradations of dynamics or technique were hard to pick up. In any case, one thing I WAS sure of was the tone- Levit played with a sumptuously, relentlessly silky tone, each note melting flawlessly out of the last. Breathtaking to hear live.
The Dvořák was a piece I'd never heard before last week, but I'd put in many hours of listening before turning up to the concert, having, many times, had a piece go straight over my head in a concert and only growing to love it later (do NOT recommend). I'm really glad I prepped, because it's a beautifully dark, fiery creature- that grave bass opening! That bubbling scherzo! The woodwind in the slow movement!- with a lot of fun textural details I might have missed if I hadn't picked them up during my YouTube trawls. The Philharmonia put in a terrific performance, with the final minute or so of the finale in particular- blazing, tempestuous- sending chills down my spine.
The Clyne lived up to its name- slow, rich strings like ponderously changing colours, gradients, alternating with chillingly savage movements.
Been binging on recordings of Rachmaninov's 2nd piano sonata this weekend, looking for oddball performances. Van Clinburn has a wonderfully aristocratic approach, but Pogorelich's characteristically 'postmodern' (as the YouTube uploader rightly put it) take on the 1931 version took the cake for me.
The Disneyfication of Winnie-the-Pooh has led, in my opinion, to a tragic decline in comprehension of the real Bear of Very Little Brain. I recently sent a call out on Reddit to test this theory, asking if people still read the original books, and was relieved to receive a fair number of responses saying they did, though they agreed Disney had definitely promoted its branded Bear over Edward. Many parents have complained about the long-winded nature of Milne's stories, not realising they're missing beautifully told philosophical treatises- wry satires on xenophobia, pessimism, vanity and pretences, which juxtapose different attitudes towards life, and take joy in its simplest beauties.
I learnt earlier this year that I wasn't the only one to dwell on the philosophy of Pooh. This month, I finally got round to reading Benjamin Hoff's The Tao of Pooh- binge-read it in an evening, as a matter of fact. A blunt and fun read, overall. It's rather odd how perfectly the Pooh books seem to fit Taoism, given that Milne presumably didn't create them with the philosophy in mind. But I guess, as Hoff notes, that Taoism is strongly linked to the mindset of a child.
I started reading Elsa Morente's L'isola di Arturo (Arthur's Island) last weekend, which proved one of the best decisions I've made in a long time. The first chunk of the book, at least, bizarrely manages to frame in fairytale terms a deeply toxic father-son relationship, exploring the idealistic myths we build in childhood about figures of authority- myths threatened in the second half, as the son comes to know- and loath- his father's new wife. I was particularly touched by this passage, in which he talks to the bride, whose maternal affections and warm sociability are novelties:
'And I added, in the tone of an arrogant proclamation:
“I know you!”
This phrase- “I know you”- came to me naturally. And upon saying it I realised that, however strange, it really was true: everyone else (my father, more than anyone else) remained mysterious to me, and this woman, whom I had met for the first time today, I already seemed to know perfectly.'
(translated by myself)
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