Horn-player heaven at Berliner Philharmonie
Kalyn Jang, Special to The Chronicle
Friday, July 4, 2008
Nothing says "Welcome to Germany" better than looking out my rainy hotel room window only to see a strangely genderless, naked mannequin staring from the adjacent building. When I opened the curtains to check out the view, there it was - the mannequin - just standing there. The thing was, we weren't sure it was a mannequin, even though it (he?) wasn't moving. My roommate, Sara, who plays trumpet, said, "If he's not there when we wake up tomorrow morning, we're switching rooms!" It stuck around, though, leaving us relieved but no more comfortable in our new surroundings.
I'm seeing Europe for the first time, on a tour with my 103 favorite musicians in the San Francisco Symphony Youth Orchestra. Our first two cities and concert halls in Germany couldn't be more different. In Rostock, an industrial town on the Baltic Sea, we're playing in an old converted shipyard, and then in Berlin, in the famous Berliner Philharmonie. Most musicians only dream of playing there.
Fighting jetlag, I was at the point where being tired didn't matter anymore because the excitement of being in Germany had taken over. From the familiarity of the hotel front, we turned a sharp corner and walked out into a European town. The wide, cobbled main street in Rostock was completely deserted, which was odd since it was light enough to be about 7 p.m. (it was actually about 9 p.m.). We felt like we were in an unreal Disneyland, with candy colored buildings, cheery storefronts, quaint cobblestones and an oversize, ornate clock in the central square.
I wanted so badly to say something in German when I went to a small drugstore near the hotel. But I must have tipped off the cashier with my passport holder, because she looked up and asked shyly in English, "Just this today?" I smiled, but couldn't think of anything to say in German. When she handed me my change, I pounced, and used one of the few German words I know: Danke. During the tour, I am determined to expand my Deutsch vocabulary.
Our concert hall in Rostock was pretty unusual, an old shipyard warehouse converted into a performance space. Paint peeled from the walls and fluttered down on the brass and percussion in the back, and birds flew around the rafters. Since the space tended to blend the orchestral sounds together, we had to play shorter to compensate. With jetlag, making music is a bit of a challenge.
See, as a brass player, it's tough to be away from your instrument for two days. My lip muscles become flabby. It's like a sport - if you don't use the muscles for a few days, they become weaker. The lack of practice time and fatigue didn't make it any easier, but the audience's applause grew more and more generous as the concert progressed, and by the end of Dvorák's "New World" Symphony, one of our tour staple pieces, they were on their feet cheering and whistling. I hear European concertgoers are notoriously harder to impress than their American counterparts, but judging by the number of encores we were given, they loved us.
The idea of playing in the Berliner Philharmonie was almost too much for my imagination, but soon enough, we had arrived at that moment. I stepped onto the stage and savored the hall's unique beauty and sound. Unlike any other hall that I have played in, the Philharmonie is pentagonal, and the audience surrounds the stage on all sides. When I looked around, I felt like I was in a large gladiator pit.
During our tune-up rehearsal, we focused on balance and playing together, which is more difficult in an unfamiliar space. The Philharmonie stage is deep rather than wide, like the stage at Davies, so the low brass had to play slightly ahead of tempo to stay together with the ensemble. I went out into the seats to listen, and was amazed by the musical nuances picked up by the hall - you can hear everything, and from anywhere in the hall. Blasting (a common brass player expression) is a no-no at the Philharmonie since it would be too overwhelming. I had to keep that in mind during the Dvorak, when the horns have a fantastic heart-thumpingly exciting melody.
After our funky rock-inspired opener, "Lollapalooza" by John Adams, I imagined what the audience was thinking during their applause: "Well, that was interesting, and well played, too, but a little strange ..."
The Dvorak, in my opinion, was more dramatic, precise and beautiful than any of our other performances. The significance of performing such a well-known symphony in the Berlin Philharmonie struck me as I listened to the wistful English horn solo during the second movement. In a moment of intense consciousness, I looked all around at the audience, and the hall, realizing, wow, I really am here.
As soon as Benjamin Shwartz, our fearless maestro, cut off the last note, a huge grin spread over my face. Whenever I finish a concert, I feel so relieved and also proud of the music I helped to create. We received countless encores and even a standing ovation for an energetic "Mela Prati," a fun piece in which we imitate the sound of Indian drums with short, explosive syllables: Bop! Shoo! Boo! Doo! Da! I find it hilarious that such an odd piece is so well received. Of course, if I were in the audience watching an American youth orchestra and they pulled that out of their sleeve, I'd love it too!
Reprinted courtesy of the San Francisco Chronicle 7/4/2008
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