Circumstances have prevented me from attending many live concerts, recently, so I jumped at the chance when Isaac White and his parents kindly invited me to a concert at Grace Church On-the-hill, a handsome Anglican church built in 1912. I arrived early, so I spent an hour wandering around Forest Hill, in Suydam Park, Relmar Gardens, and the Cedarvale ravine before meeting Isaac at the Second Cup. Forest Hill is like a small town embeded in the city, with its own little “main street” and a thick canopy of maples. In the crisp autumn air, the village seems like a Ray Bradbury story re-written by Margaret Atwood. Among the stacks of pumpkins and the drifting red and gold fallen leaves, the Anglican, United Church and Jewish versions of Toronto Respectability compete. No place could seem farther from the woes of the world. The local book store has a strangely morbid display of highly literary titles in its window, with each title accompanied by a card explaining how the author died (did you know that Roland Barthes was run over by a laundry truck?). There are very comfortable public benches on the sidewalks, a rarity in the rest of penny-pinching Toronto. In the ravine, I saw a dog chasing a cat chasing a squirrel chasing a leaf.
When Isaac showed up, we walked up to the church, and met his parents. I’d been up for two days without sleep, and had been pumping myself with coffee all day long, so I’m afraid I was uncharacteristically impish and talkative. The featured performers were Sinfonia Toronto, a chamber orchestra directed by Nurhan Arman, accompanied by pianist Angela Park. The program included Elgar’s Serenade, Op.20; Mozart’s ninth piano concerto, and a string orchestra version of Tchaikovsky’s Souvenir de Florence, Op.70, which is normally performed as a string sextet. The Elgar was a familiar favourite of mine, and was well enough performed. Angela Park did a professional, but not especially inspired rendition of Mozart’s “Jeunehomme” concerto. But after the intermission, there came a surprise. The Tchaikovsky piece would not normally appeal much to me, but from the first wave of the batton, I was swept up in it. This was not the usual, half-hearted, mildly embarassed interpretation of Tchaikovsky that you usually get in Canada. They played it poperly, like a bunch of vodka-fueled Russians would do it, all the unabashed emotion pouring out without restraint, The lead viola and lead violinist both played their hearts out, not pulling back on even the most impassioned phrases. The last two movements were expecially impressive. They have nothing even remotely related to Florence in them, and don’t seem to have much to do with the first part of the piece, but what-the-hey, nobody ever said that logic was Tchaikovsky’s strong point. The effect on the audience was dramatic: the polite applause of the first half of the concert was replaced with the real stuff.
I’d like to thank Mr. and Mrs. White for providing a much-needed injection of live music, which cheered me up considerably. I hope my cafeindish chattering didn’t offend them. After the concert, Isaac and I played Nintendo Wii tennis until my cumulative exhaustion kicked in.
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