Rachmaninoff’s Second Symphony is one such work. Take a listen to the clarinet solo in movement 3 (about 2 minutes long):

I think a few things stand out in this monologue that really personify it:

1.) Long, irregular phrases. Typically, phrases tend to last x measures where x is a power of 2 (i.e. 2 measures, 4, 8, etc…), but in this passage they do not follow any such pattern. The first phrase lasts 6 measures, and the second phrase goes for 17.

2.) Frequent breaths or pauses. Neither phrase is continuous; both feature slurs and pauses where the soloist breathes and continues or builds upon an idea.

3.) Irregular entrances. These pauses are not aligned with traditional pauses in melody, which tend to occur in the offbeats (beats 2 or 4 of a measure). Instead, they seem to occur at will, sometimes on a downbeat, sometimes on an offbeat, sometimes in-between beats.

These features give the passage an improvised, conversational feel rather than a planned, calculated one, thus creating the monologue effect quite nicely.

Feel free to comment with some of your favorite musical monologues!

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For more information about the piece, you can download or search:

Sergei Rachmaninoff
Symphony No. 2 – Movement 3

In the Classical repertoire, such music exists as well. Granted, this music might lack the definitive bass or the tonal variety of an exciting dance song, but it nonetheless generates energy like a nuclear reactor. One of my favorite examples is the third movement to Saint-Saens’ Fifth Piano Concerto.

Now, a newspaper critic might choose this above recording by Russian master pianist Sviatoslav Richter. Richter’s playing is very precise – he takes a slower tempo to emphasize the accuracy of all his notes (even virtuosos will frequently miss notes in their performances). He is an expert in contrast — from loud to soft dynamics, for example, or from tender to coarse tonality. In short, this is a great performance for the concert hall.

I prefer the following recording, however, by a pianist whom I have never heard of until now.

Fabio Bidini, an Italian pianist and former Van Cliburn competition finalist, performs this work with so much energy. He pushes ahead with his tempo and does not mind to sacrifice accuracy for speed, although his accuracy is nonetheless very precise. Listen to the way Bidini hammers his bass notes in the beginning of the piece, and how it resembles a large drum or gong. Or how he adds an extra ring to his trebles, using his piano not as a melodic but as a percussive instrument.

I like this recording because I think it brings out what I enjoy most about this concerto: the darting movement, the driving rhythm, and the daring virtuosity. Richter might perform a tearful rendition of a Rachmaninoff prelude or a Chopin nocturne, but when it comes to a more youthful and athletic piece like this concerto, Fabio is the man.

Most instrumental classical music, of course, does not enjoy this luxury. Yet the music is still able to build these strong connections. Ever wonder how this happens? Consider, for instance, the music of the Romantic era, a nineteenth-century era of music unique for its use of musical imagery and rhythmic and dynamic extremes.

There are some moments in Romantic Era repertoire that achieve true empathy. They are moments that peer deeply into the realms of human emotion and psychology, yet flow with deceptive simplicity. They are more than simply great melodies, for great melodies do not necessarily build connections. They are the musical reincarnation of human understanding, those brief but quietly exhilarating instances when two individuals realize a spiritual or heartfelt connection.

A few of these moments come to my mind immediately: the solo recapitulation in Brahms’ First Piano Concerto, for instance, and its corresponding feeling of deep nostalgia, or the budding anticipation to a paradise portrayed in Bruckner’s Fourth Symphony. These are musical ideas that evoke not only image but also familiarity. They relate to our emotions by capturing the nuances of their ebbs and flows, the intensities at various stages, and even the complex factors that lead to these emotions.

This brings me to this next gem:

The soloist is Thomas Landschoot, a professor at ASU whose achievements include introducing classical music to children in India, among other deeds.  This video starts at the cello’s introduction of the second theme of Dvorak’s Cello Concerto — exactly where our special moment begins. Now I know that experienced listeners might point out the conductor’s shortcomings at following the soloist, or Landschoot’s occasional tendency to fall flat on his vibrato, but it’s the moment that really counts in my book, and that’s where this recording excels.

Our delicate moment runs from the video’s start to 1:02, and it can conceivably divide into two main musical ideas:

The first idea is pastoral, peaceful, yet intimate, almost as if the music depicted an image not of a country landscape but rather of a storyteller telling about the landscape. What I like most about this recording is Landschoot’s steadiness and his consistent, assertive voicing, even though he plays with tempo just a little. He also rounds out this phrase beautifully with a slight character change at 0:26 rather than a steadier decrescendo, which to me follows the contour of the phrasing better.

The second idea is spiritual and insightful, as everything seems to stop and focus on the cello and its revelation. The character shift to something more airy and tentative is heart-stopping, and luckily for my health the voicing gradually gains confidence and rhythm. This passage feels cathartic and purifying; I only wish that it were played every time someone forgives me for committing a stupid act.

The rest of this recording is very good as well, especially the solo cello, but I really wanted to highlight this particular moment because it affects me in a way few other pieces or phrases do. It is my hope that more such moments be brought out not only to classical music fans but to anybody who has ever enjoyed or emphasized with a work of music — if anything, they show that music can create deep understanding even without lyrics. I’d love to hear suggestions about other moments of musical empathy as well. Fire away!

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For more information about the piece, you can download or search:

Antonin Dvorak
Cello Concerto in B Minor

T-48 Hours. I receive a neat little e-mail invitation from the BSO! Problem is, the invitation actually disinvites me from parking in the regular parking garage. Unfortunately, my presence alone does not affect the gala’s bottom line. I console myself. Someday, you’ll be important enough. Someday…

T-60 Minutes. The alternative parking garage charges twelve bucks, yet the attendants seem to have a vendetta against anybody paying with card. Spent three minutes being taken care of by a guy with a “Please idle aside so that our more valuable customers can pass through” look on his face. Seriously, though, the parking garage is part of the concert experience, even if it is not under the orchestra’s direct control. A bad experience here could easily carry into the concert hall.

T-54 Minutes. There are two places in life where you will see men wearing prim, dapper suits while huddling in concrete-laden, dimly-lit areas: The Godfather, and symphony orchestra parking garages. In other news, I’m beginning to feel inadequate wearing only my neatly-ironed button-down and my Nordstrom-bought dress pants.

T-45 Minutes. Turns out, the parking garage isn’t that far from Meyerhoff Hall (which, by the way, is absolutely stunning).  Interestingly, though, there is no elevator that leads to the bottom of the garage. Not sure how the handicapped overcome this.

T-44 Minutes. As I enter through the door clearly marked “ENTRANCE” I nearly run into a penguin-suited man trying to exit the building. He looks at my outfit disdainfully before sliding across to the exit. I hope the door hits his tail feather on the way out.

T-42 Minutes. For a Lang Lang concert, there are surprisingly few Chinese people here. I counted maybe two families in the lobby area, not including myself. This is bizarre indeed. Under normal circumstances, if Chinese people were like flies, then Lang Lang would be a rotting elephant carcass.

T-40 Minutes. Over/Under on average age of audience: 44. Better than usual, I guess. Maybe it has to do with the programming tonight.

T-37 Minutes. There are no bathrooms on the main floor – you have to either go up or down a steep set of stairs to wait in a pea-sized lobby. I can only imagine the human sinkhole that is the intermission bathroom break.

T-35 Minutes. Where are the ushers? There’s a stack of programs on a rack near the concert hall doorway, but nobody to hand them out.

T-34 Minutes. Ah, here are the ushers! I say hi to the man standing besides the door, and he impressively maintains his stone-faced, silent expression. If only Meyerhoff Hall was actually Buckingham Palace.

T-31 Minutes. After bumbling about crowded aisle-ways for three minutes, I finally find a usher willing to help. She points at row J and insists that my seat, H-21, is there. As my friend Mai (who could never curse, not even in an acronym) would say, it’s WFT (wonderful feeling time).

T-30 Minutes. BOMB SCARE!!! Audience members huddle on their chairs, hugging their legs and clutching onto their belongings. Oh, wait, there’s no bomb. It’s just me trying to squeeze through the aisle H (the real one).

T-26 Minutes. I’ll say this again: Meyerhoff Hall is ABSOLUTELY STUNNING. It has a clean, modern look, yet the décor hints at the classical program. The facility is very well-maintained and spotless. Private boxes adorn the sides of the hall like grapes on a vine.

T-25 Minutes. And what better way to showcase the hall’s modernity than a Powerpoint Presentation! This new technology will surely reach out to young audiences.

T-24 Minutes. …unless, of course, the PowerPoint is used to simply list the symphony’s platinum-tier donors.

T-21 Minutes. There’s a woman in the orchestra wearing a red dress, in stark contrast to all the other members of the symphony. I guess sex appeal sells at all socioeconomic levels.

T-18 Minutes. The lights dim, and a man sporting a bowtie and a Hercule Poirot mustache comes on stage to explain why the symphony’s opening gala is more special than an opening party or soiree. He gives a quick shout-out to Baltimore’s mayor and some of Maryland’s state senators. No kidding, I would too if their institutions contributed 25% of my revenue.

T-12 Minutes. According to M. Poirot, the gala has raised over $800,000. Not a bad start at all. Poirot addresses the audience as mostly gala attendees. No wonder there are so few Chinese people around. I remember how angry my mother was back in sixth grade when I donated a mere twenty dollars to UNICEF.

T-9 Minutes. Poirot touts the astounding successes of the BSO’s school outreach. Isn’t it amazing how everything orchestras initiate turns out to be an “astounding success?”

T-8 Minutes. Apparently, there was a 25% increase in the number of total donors who contributed to the BSO last year. Everybody who is not a statistician applauds heartily.

T-6 Minutes. And finally, the elephant in the room is addressed. Poirot talks about how the musicians volunteered to cut a collective $1 million from their salaries to “donate” to the orchestra. There you go, an increase of 100 total donors! The audience reserves its biggest applause for this moment. Musicians hold a moment of silence for their lost loved ones.

T-1 Minute. Quick video on Leonard Bernstein, who was a mentor of Music Director Marin Alsop. Oddly out of audio sync, but nonetheless cool to show the composer’s philosophy

T-0 Minutes. Marin Alsop walks out on stage. One immediately gets a sense of her stage presence. Though short by stature, you can tell she is a passionate woman who truly wants to engage her audience. And through this passion, she might as well be 15 feet tall. The audience seems to truly love her.

5 Minutes. Beautiful rendition of Bernstein’s Overture to Candide. Alsop enjoys speaking to the audience before and after pieces, and she paints a vivid picture of the African heritage that inspired the next piece, James Johnson’s Drums Symphonic Poem.

8 Minutes. Prior to the Johnson piece, a troupe from the African heritage Dancers and Drummers performs a brilliant drum and bell rhythm. I start nodding my head to the rhythm, only to stop when I realize that everybody else is still in Beethoven mode. Whoops.

15 Minutes. I’ve never heard this work prior to this evening, but I really liked the jazz melody. I thought it was bizarre that they had the African drums stay on stage for the piece, though, since they played a perfunctory role at best. I somehow doubt that Johnson’s original manuscript made room for these guys.

25 Minutes. If you haven’t heard the symphonic version of “Summertime,” go listen to it now! Arielle Armstrong, a local high school senior, did a wonderful job on the vocals.

30 Minutes. Instead of an intermission, the BSO uses conductor speeches and video interludes to set up stage for this concert. In this instance, it works beautifully. Alsop is engaging as always, and the professional-quality video documented the benefits of the BSO’s school outreach. Of course, it didn’t address the program’s long-term success and returns – education programs are ultimately supposed to increase the number of younger classical audiences, of course, but I guess nobody has figured out how to quantify those yet.

37 Minutes. Alsop and Lang Lang walk out on stage, hand-in-hand. You can immediately tell this will be a rocking performance.

57 Minutes. The audience, unable to contain itself, roars into applause after the first movement of Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto. A few musicians look disconcerted and confused at this breach of procedure, but everybody seems to be enjoying the moment.

64 Minutes. Movement 2 quickly segues into Movement 3. Previously disconcerted musicians breathe a sigh of relief.

65 Minutes. I’m not sure exactly why music critics are so disdainful of Lang Lang. My only beef with the guy is that his bodily and facial expressions are too contrived and artificial. His music is undoubtedly superb. And contrary to popular belief, Lang Lang CAN play lyrically – just listen to the first part of Movement 2. He just chooses to showcase his virtuosity over his musicality. Look, Kobe Bryant sometimes does a flashy dunk instead of passing the ball to an open teammate, yet nobody doubts his ability as a professional basketball player. “Bang Bang” might be flashier than say, Yefim Bronfman, but that doesn’t make him any less of a pianist.

75 Minutes. Bravo! Three rounds of applause for Lang Lang, who continues to walk on and off stage alongside Alsop. The two not only engage the audience, but their fellow musicians as well. Finally, everything dies down, and people file out. Whew!

105 Minutes. Still stuck in the parking garage. Nobody’s moving. What the hell.

All in all, what a great concert! Artistically, the concert was awesome, both in repertoire selection and in execution. In fact, what I really liked about the repertoire is that it presents the BSO as not just a classical orchestra, but a cultural provider (African drums, American music, high school singers, Tchaikovsky, Lang Lang together potentially speak out to a very diverse audience!). As for the rest of the experience… it was alright. I understand that the gala was geared toward wealthier patrons, but for an opening event, it was not very accessible to music and culture-lovers in general. And as well-dressed as the ushers were, their service was nowhere close to world-class.