Sirens Song

[dedalus_1947]

"Come closer, famous Odysseus –
Achaea’s pride and glory –
moor your ship on our coast
so you can hear our song!
Never has any sailor passed our shores
in his black craft
until he has heard the honeyed voices
pouring from our lips,
and once he hears to his heart’s content
sails on, a wiser man”.
(The Odyssey, 12:200. Homer. Trans. by Robert Fagles )

A hint of music entered my head as I walked along the pathway between the Humanities Building and Knudsen Hall. Echoes of familiar sounds turned my thoughts away from the lecture I’d just heard, and which route to take to the Newman Center. They crept up on me like the tickling sensations one feels when someone silently enters your room, or pulls up alongside your car while driving. I was forced to stop and look for the source of the intrusion. Turning my head from side to side, I swept the area, searching for a tell-tale sight or sound. I heard it again; a whisper of music that I could almost identify. I hesitated asking anyone, since no one else seemed to notice. Students were trooping past me, oblivious to anything unusual, seemingly determined to reach their destinations as quickly as possible. There it was again! Obsessed now, by these mysterious sounds, and determined to prove I wasn’t going crazy, I changed my path. I crossed the tree-lined street onto the open grassy area of Dickson Court. I could hear better from there, but the sounds were still faint. My audio Geiger counter finally started crackling as I walked toward Schoenberg Hall. Of course, I thought, strike my forehead with my palm, the music building! The source of the sounds may have been revealed, but not the mystery.

What was I hearing, and why was I the only person on this side of campus reacting to this music? As I approached the entrance to the glassed façade, I finally began to distinguish the melodious sounds of violins and cello playing a hauntingly familiar piece of classical music. I walked in on what can only be described as an impromptu string quartet concert. There in the middle of a vast lobby, four student musicians sat on battered folding chairs, in front of rickety music stands, playing 2 violins, a viola, and a cello. Staring intently at the music sheets before their eyes, these young men and women rocked furiously in rhythm with their instruments, and the music they created. I stood mute and entranced. They were clearly students who had come together to practice and play. They were similar to my Political Science study group which met to research a topic or investigate a hypothesis in the library. Only these were Fine Arts students and their major consisted of practicing for musical performances. They sat in a towering chamber and hallway which allowed the music to swell and soar into the air, until one of them would suddenly halt it, by saying “Wait, wait, wait, that’s not it. Let’s try it again. Start from the top”. There weren’t many interruptions; the musicians seemed pretty good. Students and an occasional adult would walk by, stop, listen, and continue forward, entering or exiting the building. Everyone seemed to accept this spectacle as a natural part of the environment of this building, which I was visiting for the first time in my freshman year. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Music for free, and it was all for me. I was done for the day, with no more classes. I had nothing to do, and it didn’t appear that the quartet was leaving any time soon. I found a nearby bench and sat down. Placing my backpack by my side, I settled in to enjoy this private concerto, in the echoing chamber of Schoenberg Hall. I would never discover the titles or composers of the pieces they practiced, but it didn’t matter in those early days of college. My clapping startled the musicians when they finished the practice, and I was too embarrassed to ask them what they had played. I just sat and enjoyed the music and the sensations they created. It was my only private concert at UCLA, and my introduction to chamber music and the intimate seductions of a string quartet. I never found out why other students did not follow me into the building to discover this music. They acted as though their ears were plugged with wax.

Classical music has always transported me to other times, places, and sensations. My mother claims that she listened to classical records during her pregnancy to teach me an appreciation for fine music while I was en utero. I can’t testify to the effectiveness of this practice, and it certainly did not engender or stimulate my musical talent. I neither play an instrument nor carry a decent tune when singing. However, classical music was the first musical genre I fell in love with (followed by rock and roll in my youth, blues in middle age, jazz in my wisdom, and occasionally country). My first memory of a concert was being taken to the Palacio de Bellas Artes, the Palace of Fine Arts, in Mexico City, to hear the National Philharmonic Symphony when I was a child. My uncle Carlos was a cellist in the symphony and he arranged for my mother and I to attend an afternoon performance. I recall dressing up and treating the occasion as a very special event. I loved the location, the setting, the orchestra, and the ritualistic aspects of the performance. The only draw back was the dress requirement; I loved the music, hated the coat and tie. Later, when I discovered my parent’s classical record collection I played the LP’s over and over on our Victrola phonograph: Flight of the Valkyries, by Wagner, Swan Lake and The Nutcracker Suite, by Tchaikovsky, Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, Blue Danube by Strauss, and even Rhapsody in Blue by Gershwin. I wore (or scratched) the vinyl off those records by my repetitive playing. Despite this attraction to classical music, the only class I ever took in Music Appreciation was in high school. In college I satisfied my fine arts requirement by taking three quarters of Art History, so I was relegated to public libraries to explore and discover the world of classical composers on my own. It was from these borrowed records that I heard the differences between the Baroque, Classic, and Romantic periods, by listening to Bach, Handel, Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Schubert, Liszt, Wagner, and Brahms, to name just a few. I enjoyed them all, but the greatest allure for me was the smaller orchestras that played chamber music. My accidental discovery of the string quartet at Schoenberg Hall only whet my appetite for this type of ensemble, and I’ve been a fan ever since. It was this attraction that brought me to the First Baptist Church of Glendale, on August 17, 2008, to hear the Avanti String Quartet.

All artists, whether they are painters, writers, photographers, designers, sculptors, or actors create a unique, thought-provoking experience or object out of nothing. Professional artists are especially blessed because they have reached a level of expertise that people will pay to watch, hear, and appreciate their performance or product. I’ve always considered it an honor to know them because they are in a class by themselves. That is not to imply that their lives are easy; in fact the opposite is usually true. Only the most fortunate of artists can live from their art.  Most professionals still need additional jobs (substitute teachers, personal tutors, temporary secretaries, caterers, waiters, landscapers, realtors, etc) in order to continue creating. Of all these artists, I’ve always thought musicians to be “other worldly”. Good musicians, in every genre, produce the sounds of angels. They create a sensory experience that touches all our faculties, and take us outside our selves. Listening to professional musicians who are also friends or family members is a transcendental treat, because of the extra dimension of personal familiarity. Even when they return to their mortal guises of uncles, nephews, nieces, sisters-in-law, brothers-in-law,  daughters-in-law,  sons-in-law, or friends, their professional status gives off a special aura. My Mexican uncle Carlos was the only classical musician I knew until Eddie, my brother, met and married Tamsen (see Giri: Family Obligations), a violinist for the Los Angeles Opera Orchestra and the Glendale Symphony. While my uncle has retired, Tamsen is in full career, performing as a soloist and as a leader or member of various ensemble groups. In 2004, she and three other women formed the Avanti Quartet. Eddie has always kept his family abreast of Tamsen’s performance schedule. Because of my love of chamber music, and my desire to support family artists, I have always tried to attend as many performances of the Avanti String Quartet as possible. When I received Eddie’s email alerting me to three performance dates, I chose one and responded that I would see him on the 17^th.

A string quartet is an amazingly intimate vehicle to enjoy classical music. The instruments are versatile enough to play most musical compositions, and the proximity to the audience makes the experience personal and inviting. The Avanti Quartet seduces the audience into the music, with their combination of style and talent. The ensemble is composed of 4 attractive women who are classically trained, accomplished, and respected professionals: Tamsen Beseke, first violin, Carrie Kennedy, second violin, Kaila Potts, viola, and a guest cellist for this performance, Cathy Biagini. During the performance they made time to interact with the audience, introducing themselves and their instrument, and discussing the composers and their works. The artists were personable and open with their guests, revealing confidence, shyness, humor, and charm in their speech and manner. These four sirens of music left a lasting impression on the men and women sitting in the pews of this picturesque, little church in Glendale. Starting with movements from Mozart’s String Quartet in C major, K157, followed by Glaznov’s peppy Five Novellettes, the Jazz Pizzicato by Leroy Anderson, and the String Quartet in D major, Op. 44 No 1, by Mendelssohn, the Avanti group guided their audience on a musical odyssey of the 18^th, 19^th, and 20^th Century. I usually just sit and listen when I go to chamber recitals, much the same way I did at Schoenberg Hall so many years ago. On this occasion, however, I didn’t want to be a spellbound captive to music. I wanted to do something different; so I brought my camera.

I have been experimenting with my camera all summer – trying out different action sequences, lighting perspectives, shooting angles, and shutter speeds. Candid action shots have posed the biggest challenge because of the equipment and technical requirements. This is even more problematic for me because my pictures need proximity to the subject. I lack the high powered telephoto lenses to shoot from a distance. Since I have to be close to the person or action I’m photographing, it’s easier having willing subjects and spectators who allow me to intrude. This is difficult if I want take pictures of strangers performing spontaneous actions, or in front of a ticket-purchasing, sophisticated audience. I’ve avoided this dilemma by concentrating on family events and friends. Although I assumed that Eddie and Tamsen would allow me to take pictures of the concert if I was unobtrusive, I wasn’t sure of the audience; classical music aficionados can be finicky and pretentious. I might wander about freely in a Concert in the Park, taking pictures of performers and spectators, but a formal music chamber like a church or auditorium did not allow that liberty of motion. I needed a cloak of invisibility, a device that would make me part of the landscape, or background, as I moved about taking pictures of musicians, scenery, and audience; and I thought I had it. On a whim, about 3 months ago I’d taken an imaginary precaution in case I ever wanted to photograph an unplanned or unexpected subject or event. I’d always noticed how individuals carrying cameras and wearing lanyards with plastic encased, oversized identification passes with photos, labeled OFFICIAL and PRESS, were always given open access at public events. People just moved aside and let the photographer step in and shoot. Rarely did anyone challenge the cameraman or check his credentials. So, I downloaded a blank “Official” Press Pass for the Mobile Broadcast News from the internet. On one side it had space for a photo mug shot and information, and on the back an authentic sounding, Constitution-like quote, invoking the rights of religion, free speech, the press, and assembly. I typed in my information, added a recent passport photo, and encased the pass in a bold plastic sleeve on a brightly colored lanyard. It looked great; and real! I never had the nerve to use it, but I imagined that one day, in a Rockford File situation, I might need to. The Avanti Concert was the first time I dusted it off and tossed it into my camera case. It worked like a charm.

Eddie gave me carte blanche to take pictures of the Avanti Quartet during their performance, and the press pass gave me a freedom of movement I would not have dared take without it. No one in the audience turned a head or batted an eye as I changed locations; moving forward, back, to one side of the church and another. The more photos I took, the bolder I became. There was another photographer in the church using a camera with a telephoto lens on a tripod. We silently nodded to each other and continued shooting. I became so confident of my disguise that I hoped someone would actually challenge me. I had a ready response: I was Tony, a freelance photographer and journalist for LiveJournal, an internet website, covering the story on the Avanti Quartet concert. After all, these were talented, hardworking professional artists who merited media attention. Why not treat them as stars? The artists certainly deserved the attention. I got so carried away with my new persona of paparazzi that I insisted on more intimate photos of the performers. At intermission, Eddie took me backstage to meet and photograph the quartet as they relaxed and refreshed; that’s when my façade cracked. In the actual presence of these attractive and charming ladies and talented artists, I became a gushing fan. I awkwardly confessed that I loved their music, their selection of works, and their interaction with the audience (Thank God, I didn’t ask for their autographs). When I shyly asked if I could take their pictures, they rescued me by finding the right location, the best light, and posed professionally. I just had to point the viewfinder and click.

As I was awakening from this magically feminine and artistic encounter and returning to my seat, an elderly gentleman walked up to me and said in a very sincere way, “Thank you for being here”. When it dawned on me that he had thanked me, believing I was a newspaper photographer, I felt like a charlatan and fraud. Until that point, I had been playing a game, pretending to be someone I was not. My intention had been to merely take pictures of Tamsen and the quartet for myself and Eddie, now I felt guilty. The only way I could redeem myself and enjoy the second half of the performance was to give truth to my pretense. I WAS an amateur photographer and an authentic blogger on LiveJournal; all I had to do now was record and report the event for everyone to read and see. I made a silent promise to write this essay and post it, even though the elderly gentleman might never see it. At peace with myself, and one with the audience, I settled back into my seat to enjoy the music of my youth.

Comments

[ojouchan.livejournal.com]

First of all these portraits are beautiful! The comfortable expressions are a sign of someone who makes the poser feel at ease, and you have a way with natural light. Fantastic job.

Chamber of Pleasures!

[el-dorado-58.livejournal.com]

A nice essay, Tony. I can speak for the Quartet in saying that Chamber Music is their FAVORITE genre. Having been a Hollywood Bowl guy for years, myself, I never got to appreciate it until I married the first violinist! There are lots of opportunities to enjoy this type of music. I recommend http://www.sundayslive.org/newsletter.cfm
for a comprehensive list of local performances. And, of course, the Avanti Quartet is available for weddings and office parties!

Siren Song

[(Anonymous)]

Beautiful, Tony. I love your sense of humor. I call it 'sincere humor.' Your integrity won out! You are an interesting man.

TRH

Siren Song

[(Anonymous)]

"Jazz in my wisdom"

Hey Now!
TRH