Hippity hop, bippity bop, we’re off to see the show. Which show? Why Shakespeare with the KSO, don’t you know.
We were told to expect McDowell, but would it be Andie or Malcolm? Sadly, ‘twas a sesquicentennial of a composer unheard for 149 of those 150 years. Seems his specialty was music lacking tension or melody or interest. It was like being trapped in the world’s largest, slowest elevator. Perhaps in another 150 years, no one will still be listening to MacDowell.
The music improved when they whipped out the Tchaikovsky. The orchestra laid the wood(s) to that crazy jazz sound. Unlike MacDowell, who we shall call the Sleeping Composer, the big T actually had a great sense of dynamics, drama and purpose. It really was the highlight of the evening. The KSO sounded fantastic. Donna particularly loved the bass and double bass players. Several of them sat on stools in order to finger their instruments. Due to being perched high up, they were forced into frantic attacks on the pages of the score. Hop, grab, page, turn, leap, finger, bow, bow, bow!!! She was right. It was riveting. Ye gods! What if they missed the page? Or the stool? They were pros. Never once did they miss, not even a beat. But all things come to an end and Tchaikovsky’s music did as well.
At the intermission, we chatted with Frank and Jere Murphy. Frank has managed to regain three, possibly four pounds and no longer appears emaciated. Jere was as lovely as always. Donna and I looked around and were thrilled to be amongst the youngest in attendance. Then, the second act began and the actors made their appearance.
For reasons shrouded in the mists of theatre, it was decided to have be-tuxedoed actors read from A Midsummer Night’s Dream whilst the KSO played Mendelssohn’s music to accompany the play. The actors were seated facing the audience and with their backs to the KSO. This very confrontational arrangement distracted greatly from the music. Further, the readings themselves were odd as the actors played various characters from the play. It wasn’t exactly clear who was whom. And while they gave a game effort, the staging just did not work and wasn’t helped by the actors acting while seated and waiting to read.
The musicianship was excellent and Mendelssohn and Tchaikovsky sounded fantastic. Hippity hop, bippity bop. We went to see the show. Shakespeare we love, MacDowell we dread. Home we went and so to bed.
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