Collected byArthur Chandler

William Hogarth, “The Enraged Musician”

Out of the Cage

Many years ago I attended a recital at the University of Illinois concert hall. John Cage was composer-in-residence that year; and, to the dismay of many, he had chosen to present his 4 minutes and 33 seconds (I think that's the title, or a close approximation). It consisted of a pianist sitting on the bench in front of the piano and playing not a note. At the end of the allotted time, the pianist (David Tudor, if memory serves) simply left the stage. Those who know Cage's work will recognize it as part of his theory of silence (as opposed to mere rests) in music.

At the U of I, the concert hall was located in the music building,which also, on the upper floors, held the practice rooms. The pianist came out on stage to polite applause, seated himself at the piano, and proceeded to wait out his 4 minutes 33 seconds. However, somewhere on the upper floors, an aspiring pianist was practicing a passage from a Beethoven sonata -- the *same* passage -- over and Over and OVER.

But the unseen pianist found the passage no easy task. And so the audience,seated in the solemn silence of the concert hall, heard a distant....

A-B-C-D-E-F# [mistake] "Dammit!"

A-B-C-D-E-F# [splat] "Son-of-a-biiiitch!"

A-B-C-D-E-F#....

I omit the other statements out of my respect for your sensibilities.But you get the idea. It was a stunning performance. The audience applauded wildly, and Cage himself professed to be pleased. And indeed, I remember this recital long after other, more ordinary displays of virtuosity have faded from memory.

-- Arthur Chandler

In Walked Monk

Back in the 1960s, I went to a jazz club -- maybe the Village Vanguard -- in New York City to hear Theolonious Monk.

He was late, and some of the audience were getting fidgety -- would he even show up.

Finally the door opened and a figure in dark glances started to mosey over to the band stand.

A young guy sitting at the table next to mine jumped up and rushed over to the man who just came in.

"Are you Theolonious Monk?" he asked excitedly.

Monk looked him over and replied: "Are you the police?”

— Arthur Chandler

Robin Williams's Near-Disaster

Years ago, Robin Williams was doing the narration for Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf with the San Francisco Symphony Youth Orchestra. Corey Chandler was principal bass at the time, and he told us about this incident.

The rehearsals all went well. But in performance, Williams somehow skipped a page and recited one of Peter’s lines well before he was supposed to deliver it. For an instant, the conductor and the orchestra members started to freak out. Then Williams realized his mistake, and simply announced: “Peter was psychic, you see.”

A Humid Recital Stirs Bangkok

Kenneth Langbell, The English Language Bangkok Post

THE RECITAL, last evening in the chamber music room of the Erawan Hotel by US Pianist Myron Kropp, the first appearance of Mr. Kropp in Bangkok, can only be described by this reviewer and those who witnessed Mr. Kropp's performance asone of the most interesting experiences in a very long time. A hush fell over the room as Mr. Kropp appeared from the right of the stage, attired in black formal evening-wear with a small white poppy in his lapel. With sparse, sandy hair, a sallow complexion and a deceptively frail looking frame, the man who has repopularized Johann Sebastian Bach approached the Baldwin Concert Grand, bowed to the audience and placed himself upon the stool.

It might be appropriate to insert at this juncture that many pianists, including Mr. Kropp, prefer a bench, maintaining that on a screw-type stool they sometimes findthemselves turning sideways during a particularly expressive strain. There was a slight delay, in fact, as Mr Kropp left the stage briefly, apparently in search of a bench, but returned when informed that there was none. I HAVE mentioned on several other occasions, the Baldwin Concert Grand, while basically a fine instrument, needs constant attention, particularly in a climate such as Bangkok. This is even more true when the instrument is as old as theone provided in the chamber music room of the Erawan Hotel. In this humidity the felts which separate the white keys from the black tend to swell, causing an occasional key to stick,which apparently was the case last evening with the D in the second octave. During the "raging storm" section of the D-Minor Toccataand Fugue, Mr. Kropp must be complimented for putting up withthe awkward D. However, by the time the "storm" was past andhe had gotten into the Prelude and Fugue in D Major, in whichthe second octave D plays a major role, Mr. Kropp's patience was wearing thin.

Some who attended the performance later questioned whether the awkward key justified some of the language which was heard coming from the stage during softer passages of the fugue. However, one member of the audience, who had sent his childrenout of the room by the midway point of the fugue, had a validpoint when he commented over the music and extemporaneous remarks of Mr. Kropp that the workman who had greased the stool might have done better to use some of the grease on the second octave D. Indeed, Mr. Kropp's stool had more than enough grease and during one passage in which the music and lyrics were both particularly violent, Mr. Kropp was turned completely around. Whereas before his remarks had been aimed largely at the piano and were therefore somewhat muted, to his surprise and that of those in the chamber music room he found himself addressing himself directly to the audience…. ( continued —>)

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BUT SUCH THINGS do happen, and the person who began to laugh deserves to be severely reprimanded for this undignified behavior. Unfortunately, laughter is contagious, and by thetime it had subsided and the audience had regained itscomposure Mr. Kropp appeared somewhat shaken. Nevertheless, he swiveled himself back into position facing the piano and,leaving the D Major Fugue unfinished, commenced on the Fantasia and Fugue in G Minor.

Why the concert grand piano's G key in the third octave chose that particular time to begin sticking I hesitate to guess. However, it is certainly safe to say that Mr. Kropp himself did nothing to help matters when he began using his feet to kick the lower portion of the piano instead of operating the pedals as is generally done. Possibly it was this jarring or the un-Bach-like hammering to which the sticking keyboard was being subjected. Something caused the right front leg of the piano to buckle slightly inward, leaving the entire instrument listing at approximately a 35-degree angle from that which is normal. A gasp went upfrom the audience, for if the piano had actually fallen several of Mr. Kropp's toes if not both his feet, would surely have been broken.

It was with a sigh of relief therefore, that the audience saw Mr. Kropp slowly rise from his stool and leave the stage. A few men in the back of the room began clapping and when Mr.Kropp reappeared a moment later it seemed he was responding to the ovation. Apparently, however, he had left to get a red-handled fire ax which was hung back stage in case of fire, for that was what was in his hand.

MY FIRST REACTION at seeing Mr. Kropp begin to chop at the left leg of the grand piano was that he was attempting to make it tilt at the same angle as the right leg and there by correct the list. However, when the weakened legs finally collapsed altogether with a great crash and Mr. Kropp continued to chop, it became obvious to all that he had no intention of going onwith the concert. The ushers, who had heard the snapping of piano wires and splintering of sounding board from the dining room, came rushing in and, with the help of the hotel manager, two Indian watchmen and a passing police corporal, finally succeeded in disarming Mr. Kropp and dragging him off the stage.

A Humid Recital Stirs Bangkok

continued

An Alarming Incident

The Chicago Symphony Orchestra's Centennial celebration concert, the exact re-creation of its first concert 100 years later, stays in the memory inpart for the wrong reason. The program, same as the one that began the CSO's history in 1891, was:

WAGNER Faust Overture BEETHOVEN Symphony No. 5

TCHAIKOVSKY Piano Concerto #1 DVORAK Hussite Overture

The CSO arranged to have its three living former (and present) music directors all participate. Barenboim conducted the Faust Overture; Solti the Beethoven; Barenboim played and Solti conducted the Tchaikovsky; and Kubelik ended the concert with the Dvorak.

Prior to the concert, the CSO had a dinner for special donors who paid $500 per person (or more), and there were some 400 of them. The dinner was held at the Art Institute. At dinners of that nature it is customary to give a token gift to those attending, and so the CSO did that. (Remember, this was BEFORE the concert — the diners went from dinner to the concert). The gift was a lovely, specially marked desk clock, an alarm clock to be precise.

Actually, "precise" is not the word to use here. What happened is that some of the clocks were put in their boxes with the alarm switches on. And all were set to different times (both the clocks and the alarms).

There were no problems during the Wagner, and during the Beethoven an occasional beep made me and others angry, thinking that some idiot had a beeper that was going off; but it didn't seem too serious.

After intermission, though, things gathered force -- as more and more clocks came into the position where the set alarm time and the time on the clock matched, and throughout the first movement of the Tchaikovsky we heard this beeping and couldn't figure out what the hell it was. Finally,one of my staff members (for newcomers to this group, I am executive director of the CSO) said "could it be those alarm clocks given out at dinner?" We got one, made the alarm go off (in the lobby, of course), and recognized all to well that it was the same sound. That meant that there may be five or six going off now, but there were four hundred more clocks inside the hall, any number of which might go off during the rest of the concert.

Barenboim and Solti were looking mighty pissed at the beeping during the first movement of the Tchaikovsky, but they stayed concentrated and kept it going. At the end of the first movement, Solti started to address the audience, but I knew that he didn’t know the real cause, and he was going to yell at people he thought had beepers. In addition, I knew that the people who had the clocks didn’t know that they had clocks -- they had gotten a wrapped present and most probably had not unwrapped it. So I walked out on stage, and interrupted Solti's announcement (he told me later that he thought he was losing his mind -- "first I hear beeping, then you walk out on stage and interrupt me-- I thought I was in the loony bin."), and told the audience that there were some 400 randomly set alarm clocks. When the stopped laughing, they dutifully took them outside to the ushers, who kept them in the lobbies until after the concert. The rest of the evening proceeded without incident!

-- henryfogel@aol.com (HenryFogel)

"Excuse me!"

The ultimate story of concert rudeness happened back in the Fifties at the old Metropolitan Opera House (the story made headlines across the U.S.) At the old Met, the first row of orchestra seats and the front chairs of the orchestra itself were almost on the same level, separated only by 3-foot curtained railing. Consequently, the conductor's upper back and head could be seen by the entire audience. At one performance, while the conductor and the orchestra were performing the overture, an elderly lady carrying two large filled shopping bags made her way slowly up the aisle. When she got to the first row, she told the persons in the first two aisle seats to stand up so she could make her way to her seat. When they refused, she began pushing her way into the aisle--but she lost her balance. She fell backwards, against (and partly over) the curtained railing, bumping into the back of the conductor — who was then pushed forward and consequently fell off the podium into the musicians. As I recall the news reports (I was not there), the orchestra did not stop playing while a few of the players helped the maestro back to the podium, where he eventually resumed beating.

— Mark Star

Hallelujah!

A friend told me of an incident during a BBC broadcast of "Messiah," specifically the "Hallelujah" chorus. The announcer was to make an air check at the end of "Hallelujah" and wasn't as familiar with the music as he should have been. If you don't remember how the piece ends, there are four Hallelujahs sung in quick succession, a one measure rest, then a slow syllabic "Hallelujah."

The radio audience was treated to:

Chorus: "Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah!" Announcer: "This is the BBC" Chorus: "HAL-LE-LU-JAH!!!"

I'm told the conductor wasn't amused.

-- Gary daumgldaum@umd5.umd.edu

Morality Play

Not humorous, but a musical incident worth pondering

Click the link to read the story

Image by Kristoffer Frisk)