A fab evening at the Victoria Concert Hall was just the ticket after an artistically heavy week. The proceedings kicked off with something from Hans Werner Henze that the programme notes claimed to be angular and harsh, but struck me as darkly beautiful. Noi managed to nod off so it couldn't have been overly abrasive. Then came a big slab of Papa Haydn, a piano concerto and a symphony, which is always a very good thing. I knew the symphony well (the A major Fire Symphony) and it's a bit of favourite of mine and familarity bred the opposite of contempt. And finally Stravinsky's Pulcinella Suite which I thought I'd recognise but didn't. I felt happily stupid over this gap in my musical knowledge, the suite being obviously delicious, and I intend to make a much closer acquaintance with the piece over the next few days. As I will with the Haydn concerto.
The very fact of Haydn's existence makes me feel better about the world somehow. A sort of assurance that at the back of it all everything's really okay, even if it isn't.
No comments:
Post a Comment