Proms 19

My continuing education in the Russian composers got an added boost last night when I saw that the Proms at the Royal Albert Hall was devoting an entire evening to the Ruskies. Perfect timing. Tiff rang up and managed to get tickets, so off we went.

Each summer, the Proms is a big deal here in London. The Royal Albert Hall, thoughtfully located within walking distance of our flat, hosts a summer of classical music every night of the week. For classical fans it's a feast. It's casual and tickets can be cheap. The shows are also broadcast on BBC radio and TV. We caught a bit of Prokofiev's Pictures at an Exhibition on TV the other night, and the conductor was amazing. He so enjoyed what he was doing his exuberance was infectious.

So off we went for a night at the Proms to hear an evening of the Russians.

First up was Tchaikovsky with three pieces form the Snow Maiden. It was wonderful. Shostakovich was next with his Violin Concerto No. 1, with a 20 year old prodigy on violin. This was a tad subtle for me, I could appreciate the playing, but didn't like it much. After intermission we heard Pokofiev's Symphony No. 5. Overall, the Tchaikovsky was my favourite. I could do with an entire evening of his music. I see there's one scheduled later in the summer, we'll have to check our calendars.

It's been ages since I've been to the symphony, but I always look forward to watching the interplay between the musicians. This time though, I was drawn to the conductor. He was really directing the orchestra in ways that I hadn't paid attention to in the past. He was really working them, cajoling them, tugging, encouraging, softening, and rousing them. It was amazing. But all this visual stimulus was too much to take in. I wasn't hearing the music. It was when I closed my eyes that synaesthesia took over and the images from the music flooded in. The music was suddenly cinematic. I was transported to the steppes of Asia in a sweeping landscape filled with men on horses doing battle with gigantic beasts. The sky was magnificent.

When I opened my eyes, the images vanished and I was once again watching the inner workings of an intricate machine of brass, wood and string. The visuals of the orchestra drowned out the images on my screen. I had the sensation of seeing through a screen that depending on the lighting is either opaque or transparent, as in the theatre.

I don't know which I prefer, to see the music, or to see the workings of the orchestra. A symphony orchestra is a fascinatingly complex machine, with one man conducting emotions and guiding the story. But, the music itself is so richly visual as well. To see an orchestra in front of me accompanied by all this music is an odd sensation. My eyes don't believe what they're hearing, and my ears can't see the music. Maybe it would be different if I were seeing a piece I was familiar with, but with something new to me it's almost too much to take in. I feel I have to chose between watching the conductor and orchestra, and watching the music.

So I chose. At times I watch the fascinating interplay between musicians and conductor, the show of the night. I marvel at the BBC camera crew who have a book of notes that they use to follow along with the music so they know which musician to focus on just before something happens. I watch the audience in this grand concert hall, listening intently.

And at other times I close my eyes and watch the music.

I can't decide which show is better.