This weekend, the St. Louis Symphony performs works by Hector Berlioz, Aram Khachaturian (pictured), and William Walton. If you can’t make it to Powell Hall this weekend, be sure to tune in to St. Louis Public Radio for the broadcast or live stream, which begins at 8:00 CST.
My program notes can be found here:
This weekend the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, led by Conductor Laureate Leonard Slatkin, performs works by Chopin (pictured above), Rachmaninoff, and Rouse.
If you can’t make it to one of the performances at Powell Hall–and good tickets are still available!–be sure to tune in to the live broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio, which begins at 8:00 pm CST.
My notes can be found here:
I wrote about a slew of Mozart pieces for three all-Mozart concerts performed by the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra, starting with opening weekend (this weekend, in fact!). There’s still plenty of time to get tickets to all the upcoming performances, which feature pianist Emanuel Ax.
On Mozart’s Symphony No. 41 (“Jupiter”), the overture to Le Nozze di Figaro, and Piano Concertos Nos. 19 and 27. (My notes begin on p. 24.)
On Mozart’s Symphony No. 39, the overture to Così fan tutte, and Piano Concertos Nos. 20 and 14. (My notes begin on p . 24.)
On Mozart’s Symphony No. 40, Piano Concertos No. 16 and 17, and the overture to Don Giovanni (My notes begin on p. 32.)
Here’s another batch from the Dallas Symphony backlog. Here I write about works by Debussy, Pintscher, Ravel (pictured–so handsome!), and Dukas.
Here is a program I wrote about for Dallas Symphony last season, on Franck’s Le Chasseur maudit (“The Accursed Huntsman”), Schumann’s Piano Concerto in A minor, and Dvořák’s Symphony No. 8. I have a big backlog of Dallas programs that I haven’t added here, so I’m just going to put them up when I have a spare moment or two.
Also, it gives me a chance to re-share my favorite portrait of Dvořák.
On May 4 and 6 (Thursday and Saturday) the St. Louis Symphony and St. Louis Symphony Chorus perform Richard Wagner’s opera Der fliegende Holländer (The Flying Dutchman) in its entirety. I’m very much looking forward to attending the Thursday evening performance with my mom, and I’ll be sure to tune in to the live broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio on Saturday night as well.
My notes begin on p. 25. Yes, I realize that I left a great many things out, but that’s what happens when you attempt to stick to your word count (and fail, but only mildly). I guess no one will miss my wanton gothisms.
On April 21, 22, and 23, the St. Louis Symphony performs Valentin Silvestrov’s Hymne 2001, Sergey Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3, and Béla Bartók’s Concerto for Orchestra, with pianist Nikolai Lugansky and guest conductor John Storgards. Those who can’t make it to Powell Hall should tune in to St. Louis Public Radio’s live broadcast and web stream at 8:00 p.m. (Central Time) on Saturday, April 22. It should be a tremendous concert, and the Silvestrov piece isn’t programmed all that often, at least not in the United States.
This weekend, February 24 and February 25 (but not Sunday, sadly), the St. Louis Symphony and St. Louis Symphony Chorus perform William Walton’s insane and gorgeous oratorio Belshazzar’s Feast. Also on the program are Otto Nicolai’s delightfully nutty overture to The Merry Wives of Windsor and Edward Elgar’s Falstaff, a more nuanced and tragic portrait of the same Shakespearean buffoon. (Sense a literary theme here? SLSO programs are always very thoughtfully conceived, which makes writing an introduction somewhat easier.)
You can tune in to the live broadcast on St. Louis Public Radio if you can’t make it to the concert at Powell Hall tonight. The St. Louis Public Radio broadcast streams live on the website, too, starting at 8:00. Once I figure out how to make a hyperlink again, I will do it; in the meantime, Google is your good buddy. And speaking of good buddies, check out the photo I found featuring William Walton (left) with a baby koala. Baby koala doesn’t seem too impressed, but my huge love for Walton’s facial expression compensates for the fact that he is much older in this photo than he was when he composed Belshazzar’s Feast, a completely koala-free endeavor as far as I can determine.
My program notes are on pp. 26-30.
On January 13-15, 2017, the St. Louis Symphony performs Antonín Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 (“From the New World”) preceded by John Adams’s Chairman Dances and Erich Korngold’s Violin Concerto (with soloist Gil Shaham). My program notes begin on p. 30. Please excuse the typos (“Move Motives” should be “Movie Motives” in the heading, and “staticy” should be spelled “staticky.”) Also, this photo of Dvořák was taken a few years after he completed the symphony, but I prefer it to more contemporaneous images because I like his stance and his pleasant but distant expression. With his fancy watch chain, velvet smoking jacket, and slight avoirdupois, the Proud Bohemian looks quite pleased with himself, and why wouldn’t he be?
Two portraits of the 24-year-old Édith Piaf, who was born Édith Giovanna Gassion, on December 19, 1915. Photos by Jean Gabriel Séruzier, 1940.
One of these days I’ll get around to writing a real essay about La Môme Piaf, who is one of my all-time favorite singers. But for now I will mention only that when I first met my darling dog Edith (Piaf’s namesake), the song “Milord” came to my lips, especially the line “une ombre de la rue.” (My husband found this “shadow of the street” running in traffic on a very busy intersection in North St. Louis City—specifically Natural Bridge, near Grand Avenue—and brought her home to me.) My Edith has the same Parisian cernes, the same tiny, plucky street-waif mien, the same huge-eyed, hungry-hearted courage and nobility. I took this photo within 10 minutes of meeting her, and we haven’t been apart a single day since.
Here is a very late and impossibly moving performance of “Milord” from the early 1960s.
The original French lyrics are provided below, along with my own translation:
Allez venez, Milord
Vous asseoir à ma table
Il fait si froid dehors
Ici, c’est confortable
Laissez-vous faire, Milord
Et prenez bien vos aises
Vos peines sur mon cœur
Et vos pieds sur une chaise
Je vous connais, Milord
Vous ne m’avez jamais vue
Je ne suis qu’une fille du port
Une ombre de la rue
Pourtant, je vous ai frôlé
Quand vous passiez hier
Vous n’étiez pas peu fier
Dame, le ciel vous comblait
Votre foulard de soie
Flottant sur vos épaules
Vous aviez le beau rôle
On aurait dit le roi
Vous marchiez en vainqueur
Au bras d’une demoiselle
Mon Dieu, qu’elle était belle
J’en ai froid dans le cœur
Allez venez, Milord
Vous asseoir à ma table
Il fait si froid dehors
Ici, c’est confortable
Laissez-vous faire, Milord
Et prenez bien vos aises
Vos peines sur mon cœur
Et vos pieds sur une chaise
Je vous connais, Milord
Vous ne m’avez jamais vue
Je ne suis qu’une fille du port
Une ombre de la rue
Dire qu’il suffit parfois
Qu’il y ait un navire
Pour que tout se déchire
Quand le navire s’en va
Il emmenait avec lui
La douce aux yeux si tendres
Qui n’a pas su comprendre
Qu’elle brisait votre vie
L’amour, ça fait pleurer
Comme quoi l’existence
Ça vous donne toutes les chances
Pour les reprendre après
Allez venez, Milord
Vous avez l’air d’un môme
Laissez-vous faire, Milord
Venez dans mon royaume
Je soigne les remords
Je chante la romance
Je chante les milords
Qui n’ont pas eu de chance
Regardez-moi, Milord
Vous ne m’avez jamais vue
Mais vous pleurez, Milord
Ça, je l’aurais jamais cru
Eh, bien voyons, Milord
Souriez-moi, Milord
Mieux que ça, un petit effort
Voilà, c’est ça!
Allez riez, Milord
Allez chantez, Milord
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Mais oui, dansez, Milord
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Bravo, Milord
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Encore, Milord
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
Ta da da da da da
(Written by Marguerite Monnot, Joseph Mustacchi)
Come along, Milord!
Sit at my table;
It is so cold, outside,
Here it’s comfortable.
Relax, Milord,
and put yourself at ease,
your troubles on my heart,
and your feet on a chair.
I recognize you, Milord.
You’ve never seen me:
I’m just a girl from the docks,
A shadow of the street…
But I brushed right by you
while you were passing yesterday.
You were more than a little proud.
God! The heavens filled you.
Your silk scarf
floating on your shoulders,
you were so beautiful
one might have said the king…
You were walking victoriously
A woman on your arm,
My God! How beautiful she was!
I felt coldness in my heart.
(chorus)
Say that it’s enough sometimes
For there to be a boat
So that everything falls apart
When the boat leaves.
It took away with it
The sweet girl with the eyes so tender
who had no way of comprehending that
she was breaking your life.
Love, it makes for weeping
like this very existence,
which gives you every chance
only to snatch it back afterwards…
Come along, Milord!
You look like a waif!
Relax, Milord,
Come into my kingdom:
I heal remorse,
I sing romance,
I sing about milords,
who haven’t had much luck!
Look at me, Milord,
You’ve never seen me before…
But—you’re crying, Milord?
I never would have believed it!
Ah well, there there, Milord!
Smile at me, Milord!
Better than that! A bit of effort!
There we are!
Come along, laugh, Milord!
Come along, sing, Milord!
La-la-la…
Yes, dance, Milord!
La-la-la… Bravo Milord!
La-la-la… Again Milord! … La-la-la…
(Translation by René Spencer Saller, copyright 2016)
And just for good measure, here is a 1954 performance of “L’Accordéoniste,” another favorite. The song was composed expressly for Piaf by Michel Emer, shortly before he was deployed to the front (in World War II).
La fille de joie est belle
Au coin de la rue là-bas
Elle a une clientèle
Qui lui remplit son bas
Quand son boulot s’achève
Elle s’en va à son tour
Chercher un peu de rêve
Dans un bal du faubourg
Son homme est un artiste
C’est un drôle de petit gars
Un accordéoniste
Qui sait jouer la java
Elle écoute la java
Mais elle ne la danse pas
Elle ne regarde même pas la piste
Et ses yeux amoureux
Suivent le jeu nerveux
Et les doigts secs et longues de l’artiste
Ça lui rentre dans la peau
Par le bas, par le haut
Elle a envie de chanter c’est physique
Tout son être est tendu
Son souffle est suspendu
C’est une vraie tordue de la musique
La fille de joie est triste
Au coin de la rue là-bas
Son accordéoniste
Il est parti soldat
Quand y reviendra de la guerre
Ils prendront une maison
Elle sera la caissière
Et lui, sera le patron
Que la vie sera belle
Ils seront de vrais pachas
Et tous les soirs pour elle
Il jouera la java
Elle écoute la java
Qu’elle fredonne tout bas
Elle revoit son accordéoniste
Et ses yeux amoureux
Suivent le jeu nerveux
Et les doigts secs et longs de l’artiste
Ça lui rentre dans la peau
Par le bas, par le haut
Elle a envie pleurer c’est physique
Tout son être est tendu
Son souffle est suspendu
C’est une vraie tordue de la musique
La fille de joie est seule
Au coin de la rue là-bas
Les filles qui font la gueule
Les hommes n’en veulent pas
Et tant pis si elle crève
Son homme ne reviendra plus
Adieux tous les beaux rêves
Sa vie elle est foutue
Pourtant ses jambes tristes
L’emmènent au boui-boui
Où y a un autre artiste
Qui joue toute la nuit…
Elle écoute la java
Elle entend la java…
Elle a fermé les yeux…
Et doigts secs et nerveux
Ça lui rentre dans la peau
Par le bas, par le haut
Elle a envie gueuler c’est physique
Alors pour oublier
Elle s’est mise à danser, à tourner
Au son de la musique…
ARRÊTEZ!
Arrêtez la musique…
(lyrics and music by Michel Emer)
The call girl is beautiful
on the corner over there.
She has a client
who keeps her stockings full.
When her job is done,
she goes on her way
to look for something slightly dreamy
At a dancehall in the outskirts.
Her man is an artist.
He’s a weird little guy,
an accordionist
who knows how to play the Java.
She hears the Java
but she doesn’t dance.
She doesn’t glance at the dancefloor.
And her loving eyes
follow his jittery playing
and the long, dry fingers of the artist.
It gets under her skin
from the bottom, from the top.
She has the urge to sing, it’s physical
All of her being is tensed.
Her breath is held.
It’s a work of art molded by the music.
The “girl of joy” is sad
On the corner over there.
Her accordionist
left to become a soldier.
When he returns from the war,
they will have a house.
She will be the cashier,
and he will be the boss.
How beautiful life will be!
They’ll be real big shots.
And every night for her
he’ll play the Java.
She hears the Java,
which she hums low.
She looks again at her accordionist,
and her loving eyes
follow the jittery playing
and the long, dry fingers of the artist.
It gets under her skin
from the bottom, from the top.
She has the urge to cry, it’s physical!
Her entire being is tensed.
Her breath is held.
It’s a work of art molded by the music.
The prostitute is alone
Over there on the corner.
The girls who make nasty faces,
The men don’t want them.
And too bad if she croaks,
her man is never coming back.
Farewell to all those beautiful dreams.
Her life is fucked.
Yet her tired legs
take her to the dancehall
where there’s another artist
who plays all night long…
She hears the Java.
She listens to the Java…
She closes her eyes…
And fingers, dry and nervy–
It gets under her skin
from the bottom, from the top.
She has the urge to scream, it’s physical!
And so to forget,
she begins to dance, to turn
to the sound of the music…
STOP!
Stop the music!
(Translation by René Spencer Saller 2016)
perfume, pleasures, poetry
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Author of SAINT OF THE NARROWS STREET, SHOOT THE MOONLIGHT OUT, CITY OF MARGINS, A FRIEND IS A GIFT YOU GIVE YOURSELF, THE LONELY WITNESS, EVERYTHING IS BROKEN, DEATH DON'T HAVE NO MERCY, and GRAVESEND
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