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This is the first of my 26 entries for 2011 regarding some of my most cherished musical experiences in my life, some sublime ... some naughty and some still making me scratch my head.
This one was begging to be first. I've decided it would be folly to try to write in chronological order, as I'm sure I'd always miss an important event and then need to backtrack.
So ...
I love Seiji Ozawa.
Why?
How could I not? He made an indelible mark on the growth of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra at a time when concert-going in the city was one of those safe, predictable experiences ... especially in the 1950s and 1960s. Audiences demanded that programs be easy-to-understand. If they were boring too, well, that was a simple price to pay for music that sounded good.
When he was hired, Toronto was just starting to emerge from its Victorian veneer, straight-laced rules and regulations. It was quivering with new beginnings. Such as our new city hall that – still, to this day – looks like something from outer space. Is it any wonder it was used as a shot in a Star Trek TNG episode, S02E11? Hello, Gateway on Iconia!
He took over the TSO, as the orchestra's youngest conductor, in 1965 and stayed until 1969. By a lovely coincidence, I was in high school during that time and the orchestra had a wonderful (meaning cheap) ticket structure for teens. Because of it, I was able to attend many, many concerts and experience a level of sophistication I would have otherwise not had. [Even though my second piano teacher was a former concert pianist, the disparity between her age and mine meant that I couldn't connect.]
So, here was this whirlwind of a man who took Toronto by storm. He introduced ::gasps in mock horror:: modern music to the Toronto scene ... and made us like it. When new works were premiered by the orchestra, with their composers in the audience, it meant something. As a conductor, he played a delicate balancing game ... between introducing new music and satisfying the aural comfort levels of older patrons (who, after all, were the ones who could afford to attend on a regular basis, paying higher ticket prices) by offering more traditional (aka harmonious) fare.
And, then, four years later he was gone ... hitting the big time in San Francisco, Tanglewood, Boston. Bye-bye, Seiji. We're thrilled we had you for a short while.
And, then, I hit my own big time the same year, having been accepted by the Faculty of Music at the University of Toronto. We had our own roster of versatile performing artists on the Faculty but I still missed Seiji and thought I'd never see him again.
How wrong I was.
When I started at the Faculty, students at the time had to belong to one of several large groups (choir, orchestra or band). I started off with the repertory chorus which I found extremely limiting, as members weren't interested in performing, but merely satisfying the minimum credit requirement. After a couple tedious months, I approached the conductor, Lloyd Bradshaw (and, yes, you'll be reading much more about him), expecting that he would put me through an audition. To my surprise, he just told me to show up at the next rehearsal. The rep chorus rehearsed once a week, the Concert Choir twice.
I loved-loved-loved singing in the Concert Choir. We did more ambitious pieces and – oh, joy – we performed (something I'd missed since my high school days)! Just as many members of the Faculty were regular performers with the TSO, Lloyd was the choral director of the (not often used) Toronto Symphony Chorus. I believe it was spring of 1970 or 1971 (and wish I had something tangible to prove the year), he mentioned that the TSO was performing the Berlioz Requiem under guest conductor Seiji Ozawa and would any of us like to join the large choir for this occasion. Um ... ::leaps up in rapture :: YES!
I attended the chorus rehearsal on the weekend, received the 200-page score, and started getting ready for the mid-week performance. So, what do you think I did in those two-three days? Well, I memorized The. Entire. Score! Why? So that I could watch Seiji conduct and not need to look away, as I didn't want to waste even a second of a precious experience. In any case, it's a good thing I'd had 4 years of Latin in high school, so the words weren't a problem (and I've always been able to pick up a melody or, um, 100).
::giggles::
I'd never heard the Berlioz before (with Chopin and Tschaikovsky being more standard fare at home). Well, in the actual performance, I was blown away by the special brass choirs that were hidden in the corners of Massey Hall until they emerged, blasting forth the most thrilling explosion of triumphant chords and fanfares bouncing off each other ... with the audience at the bliss-filled centre of it all.
As you can imagine, I didn't need to be in the audience to be filled with bliss. I had contributed to it and had the pleasure of being under the baton of Maestro Ozawa for a few brief hours that I will treasure for the rest of my life.
Random quirky coincidence: The tenor soloist during the performance is also the soloist on the CD I have of Ozawa conducting.
This one was begging to be first. I've decided it would be folly to try to write in chronological order, as I'm sure I'd always miss an important event and then need to backtrack.
So ...
I love Seiji Ozawa.
Why?
How could I not? He made an indelible mark on the growth of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra at a time when concert-going in the city was one of those safe, predictable experiences ... especially in the 1950s and 1960s. Audiences demanded that programs be easy-to-understand. If they were boring too, well, that was a simple price to pay for music that sounded good.
When he was hired, Toronto was just starting to emerge from its Victorian veneer, straight-laced rules and regulations. It was quivering with new beginnings. Such as our new city hall that – still, to this day – looks like something from outer space. Is it any wonder it was used as a shot in a Star Trek TNG episode, S02E11? Hello, Gateway on Iconia!
He took over the TSO, as the orchestra's youngest conductor, in 1965 and stayed until 1969. By a lovely coincidence, I was in high school during that time and the orchestra had a wonderful (meaning cheap) ticket structure for teens. Because of it, I was able to attend many, many concerts and experience a level of sophistication I would have otherwise not had. [Even though my second piano teacher was a former concert pianist, the disparity between her age and mine meant that I couldn't connect.]
So, here was this whirlwind of a man who took Toronto by storm. He introduced ::gasps in mock horror:: modern music to the Toronto scene ... and made us like it. When new works were premiered by the orchestra, with their composers in the audience, it meant something. As a conductor, he played a delicate balancing game ... between introducing new music and satisfying the aural comfort levels of older patrons (who, after all, were the ones who could afford to attend on a regular basis, paying higher ticket prices) by offering more traditional (aka harmonious) fare.
And, then, four years later he was gone ... hitting the big time in San Francisco, Tanglewood, Boston. Bye-bye, Seiji. We're thrilled we had you for a short while.
And, then, I hit my own big time the same year, having been accepted by the Faculty of Music at the University of Toronto. We had our own roster of versatile performing artists on the Faculty but I still missed Seiji and thought I'd never see him again.
How wrong I was.
When I started at the Faculty, students at the time had to belong to one of several large groups (choir, orchestra or band). I started off with the repertory chorus which I found extremely limiting, as members weren't interested in performing, but merely satisfying the minimum credit requirement. After a couple tedious months, I approached the conductor, Lloyd Bradshaw (and, yes, you'll be reading much more about him), expecting that he would put me through an audition. To my surprise, he just told me to show up at the next rehearsal. The rep chorus rehearsed once a week, the Concert Choir twice.
I loved-loved-loved singing in the Concert Choir. We did more ambitious pieces and – oh, joy – we performed (something I'd missed since my high school days)! Just as many members of the Faculty were regular performers with the TSO, Lloyd was the choral director of the (not often used) Toronto Symphony Chorus. I believe it was spring of 1970 or 1971 (and wish I had something tangible to prove the year), he mentioned that the TSO was performing the Berlioz Requiem under guest conductor Seiji Ozawa and would any of us like to join the large choir for this occasion. Um ... ::leaps up in rapture :: YES!
I attended the chorus rehearsal on the weekend, received the 200-page score, and started getting ready for the mid-week performance. So, what do you think I did in those two-three days? Well, I memorized The. Entire. Score! Why? So that I could watch Seiji conduct and not need to look away, as I didn't want to waste even a second of a precious experience. In any case, it's a good thing I'd had 4 years of Latin in high school, so the words weren't a problem (and I've always been able to pick up a melody or, um, 100).
::giggles::
I'd never heard the Berlioz before (with Chopin and Tschaikovsky being more standard fare at home). Well, in the actual performance, I was blown away by the special brass choirs that were hidden in the corners of Massey Hall until they emerged, blasting forth the most thrilling explosion of triumphant chords and fanfares bouncing off each other ... with the audience at the bliss-filled centre of it all.
As you can imagine, I didn't need to be in the audience to be filled with bliss. I had contributed to it and had the pleasure of being under the baton of Maestro Ozawa for a few brief hours that I will treasure for the rest of my life.
Random quirky coincidence: The tenor soloist during the performance is also the soloist on the CD I have of Ozawa conducting.
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