Tonight was the first in this summer’s Concerts in the Park, hosted by the New York Philharmonic. Picture the scene: an oasis of green spread out against the majestic skyscrapers of Manhattan’s skyline. A concert stage set up on the Great Lawn, thousands of eager fans arriving hours in advance to reserve a spot on the grass.

The lineup was promising, with the Shanghai Symphony Orchestra backing up Ying Huang (soprano), Changyong Liao (baritone) and Lang Lang (piano). The programme was intriguing, ranging from Tchaikovsky to Ravel to Wagner to Gershwin. The crowd was alight with anticipation; the weather, initially threatening, cleared. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, there was the performance. The Shanghai Symphony Orchestra held up its end of the bargain, with a particularly strong showing among the woodwinds and brass (the strings sounded a little suffocated and raspy in the humidity). The performances were competent, if not inspired. The featured soloists were another matter. They had rich, rounded voices, and were completely unable to hit any notes in their respective higher registers. If they played darts like they sang, they would be somewhere well off the dartboard, perhaps with a dart embedded in a bar patron’s head. They seemed to aim in the general direction of a note and let go. The one duet they sang, which was within a normal range, actually was almost pleasantly in tune and on key, except at the dramatic ending.

But fear not: Lang Lang was next, the featured pianist in Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. What could be more fitting in New York City than that quintessential composition? With Lang Lang’s verve and technical prowess, how could it be anything less than spectacular?

And yet it was a lugubrious, lopsided, almost petulant Rhapsody, with only flashes of spirit and brilliance. To say it gently, the tempo was unorthodox, ranging from a sleepy lento to at best a crippled andantino. One begins to wonder if the nominal stars of these shows bother to practice before making their journeys here: several passages were wrong, in spite of the presence of a score on the piano (an almost sure sign of sight-reading), and the interpretation was uninspired at best and laboured at worst. Lang Lang’s flair for the dramatic was on full display in the worst possible way, without any hints of humour or whimsy, but full out attempts at misplaced drama.

In spite of this, the crowd (with a significant number of Chinese) gave a standing ovation: nationalistic pride for their star pianist or mere enthusiasm? Certainly the performance was lacking. The encore was most practiced and fluid, special because it was clearly dear to the performer’s heart and unpretentious. But it was not enough to offset the otherwise disappointing performance in the park tonight.

The worst part of this translocation south of the border, I was told, was not going to be the customs officials at the US border, or the 8-hour drive, or the few comforts of the U-Haul van, or the sheer amount of material that had to be moved. While difficult to bear, these hurdles were mere molehills, nay, anthills to the Kilimanjaro of the most feared aspect of our move.

How would our cats react?

A casual search on Google quickly confirms that moving with pets can be a painful experience. Our apartment-bound cats only enter the car to see the vet, which they invariably equate with scary veterinarians and sharp needles. They are away from their usual environments, deprived of familiar sights, sounds and smells and assaulted by bizarre and potentially frightening stimuli. The Significant Other, who had previously moved with these two cats, repeatedly detailed prior moves, their scatological results and resultant psychological scars.

Anticipating these horrors, we ventured forth to gather equipment and advice. Cat carriers were acquired — this was a more difficult task than originally anticipated. Dog carriers abound but precious few are marked for cats. We left them out and occasionally tempted the captives inside with treats. We went through a bag of treats before one of them (Dade) cottoned on and refused to enter the carriers altogether. (That or she was repulsed by an offering of turkey sausage; she has refined culinary tastes.)

We tried unsuccessfully to drug the wee (and not so wee) beasties, but they decided that they did not like fruit-flavoured baby gravol even when mixed liberally with yogourt, cat treats and butter.

Vaccinations were also in order, although I don’t understand why indoors cats need rabies vaccine. True, occasionally they try to escape. The various governmental websites sent mixed messages; anecdotal evidence was also contradictory. So they had a visit from the vet and received their shots and certificates.

Finally the day of the move arrived. We loaded the truck, finished cleaning the apartment and turned out the lights. Because of his greater experience, the SO was left with the task of corralling and transporting the cats. All I had to do was sit in the cab of the truck, which had been previously lined with a comforter familiar to them, and stop them from escaping. Easy, right?

It turned out reasonably well. Mishka came first and immediately leaped into my bare arms and let loose a barrage of sounds, best described as a cross between a yowl and a hiss. He panted, arched his back, bared his canines, hissed at the windows (perhaps he could see his reflection in the glass). When she arrived, Dade joined in, and they both kept it up for half an hour before the sounds diminished and finally stopped. Somewhat to our surprise, they decided to settle in and fell asleep, and at one point relaxed enough to munch on some cat treats.

Again, somewhat to my surprise, they settled in reasonably well in the new apartment. They have managed to take over the sole bedroom and Mishka has struck up an ongoing relationship with several birds, who taunt him on a daily basis. They are indifferent to the fact that they are now denizens of one of the world’s great cities. Oh well.

Why is it that a galloping horse (which has four legs), is suggested in music by triplets, and trains (which are double-piston stroke engines) by four sixteenth notes?

Well, it looks as though Yo Yo Ma is again forging new connections between two worlds — this time between classical music and…Canadian politicians?

Recently iTunes released a compilation of Mozart’s piano concertos, as performed by Vladimir Ashkenazy and the Philharmonia Orchestra. It seemed like a good idea at the time — a good pianist leading a good orchestra. And it was Mozart — how bad could it be?

For a start, it is not really possible to sit down and listen to this collection all at once. In fact, the editorial team recommends against this feat. After the first hour or two, initial delight turns into boredom, then mild irritation as the unending trills and scales continue. This problem is more marked in the later concertos, which, unfortunately, all sound identical. The earlier concertos have a fresher feel, as if they were more carefully constructed. The later ones are frenetic, as though some disaster would happen if the cascade of notes halted. Not until now did I understand the Emperor’s comment in the 1984 movie Amadeus: “There are too many notes!”

One wonders why this collection of Mozart generates such boredom. Certainly Mozart was a musical prodigy, and he was capable of revolutionary ideas (the Dissonance string quartet, for instance). But maybe music was a little too easy: it is easier to write to a well-known formula than to innovate and face the inevitable criticism for something new and different. Certainly it is pretty at first, but it is not possible to listen to the these concertos and wonder why such a genius could generate such trite compositions.

In case you didn’t know, Hilary Hahn is actually on twitter. Well, her fine violin containment unit is there, and it seems to have the inside scoop.

http://twitter.com/violincase

Violinist Hilary Hahn has always been active on the internet. She started her online journal many years ago, before blogging became de rigeur. Now she has a channel on YouTube where she interviews her peers and takes questions from fans.

Check it out. Though caution is advised, as sometimes knowing the performer’s music is a sufficient dimension.

Here’s an interesting article at the New York Times on music and medicine. To paraphrase, some researchers (pseudoresearchers?) claim that certain musical motifs, deployed appropriately, can be beneficial in regulating conditions such as anxiety, depression, insomnia, etc.

I recall a related story (no link, unfortunately) in which someone claimed that the iambic hexameter of Greek poetry had beneficial health effects. But let’s be honest, the ancient Greeks had a lot more physical activity as well, climbing mountains and rowing triemes and running marathons.

A new design is in progress and should be online soon, along with new posts. It is intended that the old site will be available as an archive.