September 18. First live theater since lockdown: “Lizastrata” at the Getty Villa. Live theater resumes with a BANG! Antique bawdiness comes to life. You kept thinking, “No, they can’t” but The Troubies did, and more: exploding balloon phalloi, the talking puppet phalloi, the squirting phalloi, the fireworks exploding phalloi.
September 26. First recital: a PianoSpheres marathon of Messiaen’s “Catalog of birds” cycle at the Audubon Center at Debs Park. I made it halfway. Magnificent and exasperating. Sometimes it actually sounds like natural phenomena – particles flying out of an accelerator. But it’s not just birds but traffic jams: stop/start, honking, squealing tires. There were crows cawing and other real birds singing their songs at the Audubon Center. Not marcato thumps, but threads suavely unspooling or witty castanet clacks.
October 14. First L.A. Phil concert: Dudamel conducting Schoenberg’s “Transfigured night”, Richard Strauss’s “Death and transfiguration” and his four last songs with Golda Schultz. Beautiful voice and charming stage manner. During the instrumental passages she turned to look at the concertmaster, and the other musicians, really seeming to listen with ravishment.
November 20. First chamber music: The Schumann Quartet at The Clark Library. The ultra-intimate concerts at the Clark now even more selective with 60 rather than 100 seats. You're so close to the action that the sound is a shock - live music with a vengeance. It was searing. But with Ravel I started to find my way. The Mozart felt like the synthesis of every possible kind of sonic interest and pleasure, plus kindness. The Haydn was pure fun.
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