Monday, December 11, 2006
Our Biggest Fan
Wednesday, December 6
Good Morning, Vietnam! New country, new city, new money: no USD’s here, but delightful waxy paper bills in huge denominations (16,000 dong = $1), with a name inspires all sorts of pudendal humor (Got Dong?).
Off to the Hanoi Conservatory of Music first thing for our Official Welcome. Quite an occasion, too, as this is the Conservatory’s 50th Anniversary. [Wait a minute, do you mean to tell me that the HCM was in session during the War? Absolutely. Believe it or not, they moved underground and carried on business as almost usual; now that’s commitment to the Arts!] Driving away from the hotel on this foggy, chilled December morning, it may as well be Paris for the trees, avenues and architecture. In fact, the resemblance is so uncanny that it is easy to imagine that history has flipped (the Butterfly effect?) and it was the Vietnamese who colonized the West, kicked out all but a few of those annoying indigenous Gauls, and are now sole owners & operators of the ‘City of Lights’. But the illusion is instantly shattered as, turning the corner, a graying Politburo-type building with huge Soviet style People’s statuary comes into view, sentried by green uniforms with Red Starred caps (try getting one of those, Larry!).
And surely, neither Parisians nor Muscovites would ever tolerate traffic like this! Phnom Penh was mere child’s play next to the “Hanoi Hustle”. Most intersections have no traffic lights, and even those that do are hardly ever effected by them. Interlace your fingers in front of you, and you will see how it works: did your index fingers collide…? Nor do the dozens of scooters, bicycles, cyclos (bicycle powered rickshaws), tour buses, trucks, and every other conveyance known to human kind. They simply avoid each other, merrily tooting their horns to say, “Here I am…”, and push right through. Frankly, it’s terrifying for the first few minutes, but suddenly it’s OK because they seem fine with it, and you’re just another Bozo on the bus (with white knuckles).
We arrive in a pretty beat-up part of town, and suddenly turn off into a dingy alley with barbed wired topped walls covered with odd graffiti. Gulp. But this leads us, after a few more incredibly tight turns, into a large unfinished inner courtyard between two magnificent opposing 7-story buildings. The open windows tell us that we have arrived, for the musicians immediately recognize that sound: dozens of practice rooms going full tilt, with each occupant tooting, scraping or banging away in complete oblivion to their neighbors.
The Official meet & greet is quite formal; every one is given a seat around a large rectangular meeting table, each spot supplied with a chilled unopened water bottle, with the Music Director in the middle of one side opposite Southwest’s Music Director. We are given a brief history of the Conservatory (it has a large Ethnomusicology Dept, and Jazz, too!), and with great enthusiasm for the projects at hand, our residency begins. Immediately.
Within minutes, we are taken to a large rehearsal room and the first collaboration gets under way, the initial rehearsal of Ravel’s sumptuous Mallarmé Songs with both American and Vietnamese players. An hour’s hard work yield’s some great music, and even greater appetites, the latter being satisfied by the Conservatory’s ample buffet created for just this occasion. Social bonds are now built upon the musical, preluding a vigorous afternoon that includes our first rehearsal of a charming Suite by the Conservatory’s composer-in-residence Phuc Linh, and finishing with a truly egalitarian effort, Mendelssohn’s youthful Octet. Youthful because he was only 16 when he wrote it, but also requiring the energy and stamina of the young (at heart or bow), as it is chock full of challenging music at every turn. It takes two string quartets to play this music, and predictably, one was from Pasadena, and one from Hanoi: meaning that there were two first violins (1 American + 1 Vietnamese), two second violins (you get the picture), resulting in a true integration of forces. As Daniel Barenboim has proved time and time again with his Israeli/Palestinian Orchestra, when current or former foes play music together, everyone wins.
Lisa’s Eric, who has been shooting a videolog of the tour, meets us in the lobby upon our well earned return, only to report that that guy seems to have shown up again. Yes, not only has Bill Clinton come to Hanoi, but he’s even staying in our hotel! (Fer Crissake, can’t he just buy a ticket like anyone else?). Eric tailed him for while on the street (gathering evidence for a harassment suit, no doubt), witnessing the world’s most famous smile jump out of his traffic immobilized car and start working the crowd. Some politicians are just born that way
Our bear-infested lobby was filled with live music once again, but not the Smooth Jazz of the previous evening. Two of the Conservatory players from the very Mendelssohn Octet were cheerfully string quarteting Xmas carols, dressed to the nines in concert blacks. The sad thing is that this is the only time these four ever play together as a quartet, Christmas, or some similar social occasion. As we all know, the best way to learn the repertoire for this, the most intimate and seminal of Western chamber ensembles (where would we be without the Beethoven quartets? Or the Mozart? Or Haydn? Or Bartok? Or Carter? Ok, maybe not Carter…) is to form a stable group that plays the classics constantly until they breathe as one. Perhaps the Hanoi Conservatory hasn’t arrived at that point yet, but maybe after another year of two of Southwesting, things might change.
Off to the Old Quarter for dinner, perhaps a little more shopping, and the legendary Hanoi Water Puppets. At Jan’s recommendation [via the NY Times], we left the sordid sidewalks of swirling commercialism to enter the calm courtyard of “The Green Tangerine” for a meal that was gourmet by any standard except price. Candied duck leg with grapefruit & dandelion, rabbit with puree of carrot (what’s up doc?) infused with indigenous herbs, New Zealand ribeye escorted by a miniature fleet of two potato junkers [stuffed potato skins with masts & square sails in the exact shape of the old Chinese junk vessels], and desserts too rich for even the chocoholics to finish, to the benefit of the rest of us. We were guided there by Hai Van (the Conservatory's international relations person), as this neighborhood is incredibly complex and it is very easy to lose one’s way. But half the gang finished early, and Lynn said she knew exactly how to get back to the main street which housed the Puppet show where we were due in 15 minutes, so off we went, in increasingly pulse quickening circles as the countdown began. A few about faces, some map-directed circumnavigation, and we luckily found ourselves behind Hai Van’s group once again, and simply fell in line, none the worse for wear. Yes, we made it on time.
And I wouldn’t missed it for the world, now that I’ve been, but I had grave doubts as we battled past a half dozen gargantuan idling tour buses and line upon line of tourists. Oh boy – another ‘hula’ show where traditions have been diluted beyond recognition? Not in the least. This art form is unique to the Red River Delta, and has been practiced for centuries in the flooded rice fields. Immensely entertaining wooden puppets [animals, humans, mythical beasts] are manipulated via long bamboo poles that run underneath the water, the practitioners hidden by dark bamboo screens. With incredible choreography, these characters danced, swam, flew & promenaded portraying 17 scenes with such titles as “Dragon Dance”,”Rearing Ducks & catching Foxes” & “Harvest Festival – Triumphant return of a new college graduate to his native village, expressing his gratitude to the ancestors” (Dustin Hoffman need not apply). The puppets and their folk tales were certainly mesmerizing, but for us, it was the musicians that had our practically undivided attention.
Seated on a platform above and to the left of the green glowing water out of which smoke-breathing dragons and dancing firecrackers emerged, the ‘pit’ band was dressed in traditional clothing, playing hammered dulcimer, 2-string fiddle, Dan Bao (electric monochord), moon guitars & lutes, and a dizzying array of metal and wooden percussion instruments with electrifying accuracy & drama. Between cues, they looked just as bored as any Broadway pit band playing their 2,483rd performance of Cats, but as soon as they picked up their instruments, the music absolutely rocked! Our bass player Tom Peters & I were so inspired, we went out the very next day and each bought a Dan Bao, and I actually managed to survive a one-hour lesson from a young Conservatory student with just two words of English: a slightly encouraging “Yes”, and a highly disapproving “No!”. The rest was all mimicry on my part, in that oldest form of tutelage, Monkey See, Monkey Do.
Good Morning, Vietnam! New country, new city, new money: no USD’s here, but delightful waxy paper bills in huge denominations (16,000 dong = $1), with a name inspires all sorts of pudendal humor (Got Dong?).
Off to the Hanoi Conservatory of Music first thing for our Official Welcome. Quite an occasion, too, as this is the Conservatory’s 50th Anniversary. [Wait a minute, do you mean to tell me that the HCM was in session during the War? Absolutely. Believe it or not, they moved underground and carried on business as almost usual; now that’s commitment to the Arts!] Driving away from the hotel on this foggy, chilled December morning, it may as well be Paris for the trees, avenues and architecture. In fact, the resemblance is so uncanny that it is easy to imagine that history has flipped (the Butterfly effect?) and it was the Vietnamese who colonized the West, kicked out all but a few of those annoying indigenous Gauls, and are now sole owners & operators of the ‘City of Lights’. But the illusion is instantly shattered as, turning the corner, a graying Politburo-type building with huge Soviet style People’s statuary comes into view, sentried by green uniforms with Red Starred caps (try getting one of those, Larry!).
And surely, neither Parisians nor Muscovites would ever tolerate traffic like this! Phnom Penh was mere child’s play next to the “Hanoi Hustle”. Most intersections have no traffic lights, and even those that do are hardly ever effected by them. Interlace your fingers in front of you, and you will see how it works: did your index fingers collide…? Nor do the dozens of scooters, bicycles, cyclos (bicycle powered rickshaws), tour buses, trucks, and every other conveyance known to human kind. They simply avoid each other, merrily tooting their horns to say, “Here I am…”, and push right through. Frankly, it’s terrifying for the first few minutes, but suddenly it’s OK because they seem fine with it, and you’re just another Bozo on the bus (with white knuckles).
We arrive in a pretty beat-up part of town, and suddenly turn off into a dingy alley with barbed wired topped walls covered with odd graffiti. Gulp. But this leads us, after a few more incredibly tight turns, into a large unfinished inner courtyard between two magnificent opposing 7-story buildings. The open windows tell us that we have arrived, for the musicians immediately recognize that sound: dozens of practice rooms going full tilt, with each occupant tooting, scraping or banging away in complete oblivion to their neighbors.
The Official meet & greet is quite formal; every one is given a seat around a large rectangular meeting table, each spot supplied with a chilled unopened water bottle, with the Music Director in the middle of one side opposite Southwest’s Music Director. We are given a brief history of the Conservatory (it has a large Ethnomusicology Dept, and Jazz, too!), and with great enthusiasm for the projects at hand, our residency begins. Immediately.Within minutes, we are taken to a large rehearsal room and the first collaboration gets under way, the initial rehearsal of Ravel’s sumptuous Mallarmé Songs with both American and Vietnamese players. An hour’s hard work yield’s some great music, and even greater appetites, the latter being satisfied by the Conservatory’s ample buffet created for just this occasion. Social bonds are now built upon the musical, preluding a vigorous afternoon that includes our first rehearsal of a charming Suite by the Conservatory’s composer-in-residence Phuc Linh, and finishing with a truly egalitarian effort, Mendelssohn’s youthful Octet. Youthful because he was only 16 when he wrote it, but also requiring the energy and stamina of the young (at heart or bow), as it is chock full of challenging music at every turn. It takes two string quartets to play this music, and predictably, one was from Pasadena, and one from Hanoi: meaning that there were two first violins (1 American + 1 Vietnamese), two second violins (you get the picture), resulting in a true integration of forces. As Daniel Barenboim has proved time and time again with his Israeli/Palestinian Orchestra, when current or former foes play music together, everyone wins.
Lisa’s Eric, who has been shooting a videolog of the tour, meets us in the lobby upon our well earned return, only to report that that guy seems to have shown up again. Yes, not only has Bill Clinton come to Hanoi, but he’s even staying in our hotel! (Fer Crissake, can’t he just buy a ticket like anyone else?). Eric tailed him for while on the street (gathering evidence for a harassment suit, no doubt), witnessing the world’s most famous smile jump out of his traffic immobilized car and start working the crowd. Some politicians are just born that way
Our bear-infested lobby was filled with live music once again, but not the Smooth Jazz of the previous evening. Two of the Conservatory players from the very Mendelssohn Octet were cheerfully string quarteting Xmas carols, dressed to the nines in concert blacks. The sad thing is that this is the only time these four ever play together as a quartet, Christmas, or some similar social occasion. As we all know, the best way to learn the repertoire for this, the most intimate and seminal of Western chamber ensembles (where would we be without the Beethoven quartets? Or the Mozart? Or Haydn? Or Bartok? Or Carter? Ok, maybe not Carter…) is to form a stable group that plays the classics constantly until they breathe as one. Perhaps the Hanoi Conservatory hasn’t arrived at that point yet, but maybe after another year of two of Southwesting, things might change.
Off to the Old Quarter for dinner, perhaps a little more shopping, and the legendary Hanoi Water Puppets. At Jan’s recommendation [via the NY Times], we left the sordid sidewalks of swirling commercialism to enter the calm courtyard of “The Green Tangerine” for a meal that was gourmet by any standard except price. Candied duck leg with grapefruit & dandelion, rabbit with puree of carrot (what’s up doc?) infused with indigenous herbs, New Zealand ribeye escorted by a miniature fleet of two potato junkers [stuffed potato skins with masts & square sails in the exact shape of the old Chinese junk vessels], and desserts too rich for even the chocoholics to finish, to the benefit of the rest of us. We were guided there by Hai Van (the Conservatory's international relations person), as this neighborhood is incredibly complex and it is very easy to lose one’s way. But half the gang finished early, and Lynn said she knew exactly how to get back to the main street which housed the Puppet show where we were due in 15 minutes, so off we went, in increasingly pulse quickening circles as the countdown began. A few about faces, some map-directed circumnavigation, and we luckily found ourselves behind Hai Van’s group once again, and simply fell in line, none the worse for wear. Yes, we made it on time.
And I wouldn’t missed it for the world, now that I’ve been, but I had grave doubts as we battled past a half dozen gargantuan idling tour buses and line upon line of tourists. Oh boy – another ‘hula’ show where traditions have been diluted beyond recognition? Not in the least. This art form is unique to the Red River Delta, and has been practiced for centuries in the flooded rice fields. Immensely entertaining wooden puppets [animals, humans, mythical beasts] are manipulated via long bamboo poles that run underneath the water, the practitioners hidden by dark bamboo screens. With incredible choreography, these characters danced, swam, flew & promenaded portraying 17 scenes with such titles as “Dragon Dance”,”Rearing Ducks & catching Foxes” & “Harvest Festival – Triumphant return of a new college graduate to his native village, expressing his gratitude to the ancestors” (Dustin Hoffman need not apply). The puppets and their folk tales were certainly mesmerizing, but for us, it was the musicians that had our practically undivided attention.
Seated on a platform above and to the left of the green glowing water out of which smoke-breathing dragons and dancing firecrackers emerged, the ‘pit’ band was dressed in traditional clothing, playing hammered dulcimer, 2-string fiddle, Dan Bao (electric monochord), moon guitars & lutes, and a dizzying array of metal and wooden percussion instruments with electrifying accuracy & drama. Between cues, they looked just as bored as any Broadway pit band playing their 2,483rd performance of Cats, but as soon as they picked up their instruments, the music absolutely rocked! Our bass player Tom Peters & I were so inspired, we went out the very next day and each bought a Dan Bao, and I actually managed to survive a one-hour lesson from a young Conservatory student with just two words of English: a slightly encouraging “Yes”, and a highly disapproving “No!”. The rest was all mimicry on my part, in that oldest form of tutelage, Monkey See, Monkey Do.
# posted by Southwest Chamber Music @ 7:01 PM 
