Spaces full and empty

I went to a concert last night - a pianist, apparently well known. I was offered a free ticket by a friend so said yes without hesitation, only at the last minute scrambling to find out what and who I was seeing. As it turns out, it was a Russian pianist called Katia Skanavi at the fancy-schmancy Melbourne Recital Centre.

I don't go to chamber music concerts that much - apart from friends' generosity or friends' participation, it's not an artform I'm naturally drawn to...maybe it's my lack of musical education, or maybe I just don't warm to the sound forms. But every now and then I find a piece, or a performance, that opens my eyes.

The first thing I liked about the concert - and I know this sounds shallow - was Katia's frock. The dress she wore - long, black, halter neck, simple but well-placed detail - was simply beautiful. It created a sense of timelessness that she herself didn't acknowledge - which was interesting and intriguing in itself. So many soloists try to create an aura of grandeur through the frills, cleavage and general shininess that 'concert frocks' typically feature, and their dress ends up out-performing them. Katia's frock was elegant, classic and complemented the understated focus she brought to the performance.

Her first work was a Schubert sonata (D784) - one I'd not heard before, and which I will maybe allow myself to hear one more time to confirm how much I dislike it, but no more than that! It felt disjointed - unexpressive - and it was a strange choice to open the concert. There seemed to be no communion with the audience - we were just observing a woman interacting with a piece oblivious to all but not sharing a jot of it. It was uncomfortable. I could see the audience wriggling, and I would have loved to wriggle too, had there been any space to do so - the seats in the main hall are disastrously crowded. I was wondering if I could leave politely at interval, though the subsequent Carl Vine sonata got me more interested - very Vine-y - full of choons, well-structured chords, enjoyable and interesting all at once. Not many spaces between the notes for that one. It made me feel like the first piece was her own famlliarisation with the space - I decided to stay a little longer.

It was after interval however that things got very, very interesting. All Chopin - the Andante Spianato (op. 22) and the Funeral March sonata (op. 34). Oh my lordy. I've not heard these works before. Of course I thought I'd heard the funeral march part of the sonata, but as it turns out my knowledge was limited to Loony Tunes excerpts. These two pieces - and what Katia did with them - were a revelation. The music spilled out from her in controlled waves of cascading runs, contrasted by these quiet, considered melodies where the gaps between the notes resonated as much as the notes themselves. It was nonstop, musical bliss where I became a quiet-breathing receptacle, feeling every chord, seeing every colour, and leaving ego far behind.

After the concert I thanked my friend for the ticket, excused myself and headed home. Sitting in the tram watching dark Melbourne flick by, I tried to remember and connect up other moments in my life where I've felt that open, that empty. Music has certainly provided many such moments - both as listener and a performer. Nothing can beat it, long may it last.
Hollow in the best possible way.