Friday, July 27, 2012

Concert Review - Crested Butte Music Festival: Home Soirée "Hungarian Gypsy Jazz", with Cimbalogh Trio

     One of the main themes emerging from the Crested Butte Music Festival is that of cross-cultural connections, most strikingly, between the cultures of the music's origin, and the culture of the music's presentation. The music includes, yet also ranges far beyond, the bluegrass so home to Colorado. Looking ahead, the festival programme includes Mozart's Magic Flute, with a contemporary twist and English interspersions; as well as a "Beer and Beethoven" symphony performance, and "Gypsy Jazz in Paradise", all intertwining various cultural heritages.
     This cultural richness evident in the very first symphony concert, in which conductor and music director Jens Georg Bachmann aptly introduced a programme of classical Hungarian, Czech, and Austrian music, interwoven with traditional folk and gypsy music roughly from the same region, the latter performed by world music artists Kálmán Balogh on cimbalom, and his "Cimbalogh" trio with bassist Csaba Novák and violinist/violist Robert Lakatos. 
     In vernacular terms, the folk-influenced music had groove - and an addictive, inescapable one. In contrast to some of the classical styles on the programme, which tell a story in prose, and ask you to be very quiet and attentive to fully enjoy it, this music lures you in, seducing you to move with it until you are so engaged that it can dance with you in any direction, from sudden surges to slow and gentle slow-downs - an exhilarating feeling in many ways akin to the adrenaline the skiers and bikers in these mountains feel as they take a brilliant turn on a treacherous downhill.
     Although the folk musicians have signposts along the way, of where the harmonies change, or where there is room for improvisation, and while the groove is relentless, the melodies have an air of perfect freedom; they sound natural as in the blood of the musician, unaffected by Crested Butte's high altitude. The more I listened to the trio, the more I felt supported in my view that classical music, even art music, has its roots in the folk music of its time, and that we classical musicians have a great deal to learn about flexibility, imprecision, and even grit (true or not) in our sound and style and approach. After all, the music we've inherited as sheet music is just as much of a sketch of what we are to hear, as the words written on this screen are an indication of what you would hear if you read them aloud. The more natural, the more honest, and the more able to tell us about our humanity.
     I was so fascinated by the Cimbalogh trio, that I determined to return to their second concert, a "home soirée", in which they would be the only group performing. I was particularly interested as I have a great affinity for the composer Béla Bártok, who is also one of the first and greatest ethnomusicologists; he collected, analysed, and catalogued countless Hungarian, Transylvanian, Romanian, Serbian, Croatian and other folksongs. This deep study greatly influenced all of his compositions, and he continued his work fervently even when living in New York City near the end of his life during WWII.
     My head full of notions of modes and rhythms and melodies, I excitedly made my way to the soirée, expecting to be nearly late, and therefore to creep in quietly at the back of the audience, like a chipmunk to an errant peanut. I also expected to know virtually no-one there, as the soirée was priced as a fundraiser, meaning the likelihood of other musicians in the audience was very low, save for the festival's vibrant Artistic Director, Alexander Scheirle (who had graciously understood my excitement, and how this might be combined with the event being almost, but not quite, sold out.
     In any case, rather than at a performance in full progress, I found myself suddenly in the middle of hors d'oeuvres and cocktails, amidst some of the most generous donors to the festival. I had heard that they were lovely people, and I had met a few previously, who indeed impressed me as lovely people, and still it took me an instant to overcome my shyness, the comfort of musician mode, in which one simply takes for granted that music is precious and phenomenal and fascinating, and nerdiness can be fully appropriate. It is a shift to recognize, as a member of society, why we should and do value music so greatly, and why having a festival in which to present this great music is something to be profoundly grateful for, and proud of, at the same time. The arts are unfortunately a field in which mixing quality with a standard business model does not in any way guarantee financial success; for hundreds of years the fine arts have flourished only thanks to the patrons supporting the artists, and the stories of the greatest geniuses dying untimely as paupers, for lack of such support, sadly abound. In our own time, the news publishes many stories of a tug-of-war between rich and poor, and the resultant divisive stress on society.
      Whatever lifestyle differences may exist between artists and our patrons, we share a love of music, and, most especially at a concert, we are tied together with the common desire to be moved by it. We share something deeply human, a joy of experience and interaction. There are no boundaries between skiiers and musicians, between Arkansas and Hungary.
     This became intensely clear as Cimbalogh began to play. The music was irresistible. Not one person in the packed room could keep still - we found ourselves freeing fingers and feet from wineglasses and chairs to tap along, and many heads bobbed too. The group whirled us through dances and tales galore - Verbunkos, Hora, Gypsy Melodies, Jewish dances, Mosquitodance - fingers and hammers flying. The cimbalom's dynamic range was on full display (rendering clearly why Liszt was so inspired by this instrument); the violin and viola fiddling smoked brilliantly, and the bass kept us on a guided percussive course.
     Some songs were re-cycled from the previous evening, and some were new to us. A highlight for me was the "Tendl Pál dulcimer music", in which the melody features a classic Hungarian offbeat stress, which Kálmán Bálogh timed absolutely delightfully - the melody repeated often, and you knew to expect it, but you could never be sure just exactly when the jump would land. We were rapt. I was also very interested in the re-arranged melody from Bartók First Rhapsody for Violin and Piano, with which I am of course thoroughly acquainted - though perhaps because I know it so well, it struck me as the weakest piece of the programme. I prefer Bartók's harmonies to those the group chose, and the sound of the violin, to that of the viola, played tonight. Nonetheless, it was interesting to see which choices the group made regarding timing, and what freedoms they saw in the traditional melody, their differing interpretation of it therefore showing its intrinsic qualities from a new angle.
     The final piece on the programme was a decisive crossover - a mix of the Hungarian Verbunkos (recruiting dance) and the American Boogie-woogie with Yankee-doodle melody (recruiting melody?) The seamless interweaving of the two showed off the musicians' mastery of the styles and their similarities - true musicianship to the core.

The concert was a resounding success, and the standing ovation instantaneous. The concert's title, 
Hungarian Gypsy Jazz, had proven itself, not in any watered-down way, but in thorough enrichment.

     Following the performance, as Mr. Bálogh happily demonstrated the inner workings of the cimbalom, I too had a plethora of questions for the musicians - how do they notate their music? How much is free for improvisation, and how much decided in advance? How much Hungarian do you have to know to really understand it?
     As a devoted fan, recognized from the last concert, I secured myself some of this insider information ... and an invitation to chat more about it from the violinist. Still filled with questions (partially to inform this blog post, which was percolating in my head), of course I accepted. And I have to record some Bartók soon - how better to approach the subject of authenticity than ask someone playing folk music all about it?
     In speaking with Mr. Lakatos, I learned more of many curiousities about the music, of life bridging the folk and classical styles, and of life across the ocean. And once again, I gather that people are the same the world over - that the stresses he experiences are just the same as for anyone anywhere with long separations from family for touring/work, and the daily struggle to earn a living in a decent way. The trio had driven here from New York, and would be heading in that direction again tomorrow. Who drives? The violinist and bassist alternate, as the cimbalomist is prone to falling asleep at the wheel.

     - Though certainly not in concert. Tomorrow, before they leave, I'll read a few Bartók duos with Mr. Lakatos. Will osmosis transmit an authentic style? (I'm curious.)

     ... What it did was transmit the excitement of the music yet again, and show how the cultural understanding of it highlights it even more. Life is much better and easier with inspiration, and how lucky are we to be able to access it from such a vast array of cultures here in beautiful Crested Butte, whilst breathing in the natural mountain air and friendliness. As life and creativity is enriched, the osmosis is symbiotic (though my biology metaphors can doubtless use a tune-up). Through such a welcoming environment to share in, the festival enriches the lives of artists and audience alike, uniting us in all our many cultures. Come share in the fun ... this year, or next!

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