November 2023: Introductions
Welcomes, confessions, and recommendations
Welcome, friends!
After nearly two hours and 300 words in botched ledes, that’s the best intro I could come up with. Lede paralysis feels like a very apt start to this new project — first-day jitters. Ledes have cost me hours of anxiety, nights of sleep, and most importantly, a full head of hair. Why should this one be any different?
But despite my palpitations, I’m so excited to have you all here with me. It’s been a while since I’ve had my own platform, but it felt like the time had come once again.
Let’s start with introductions. Who am I? What do I do? Two loaded questions. I’ll tell you what I know.
I fit the same description as many fellow music writers on the scene today. Male. White. Queer. Bald. My only distinguishing factor is that I fall several standard deviations below average critic age — and time will correct that soon enough.
I originally hail from Los Angeles, but as I enter year three in New York City, I’m quite sure it’s my forever home. I’m a proud Upper Manhattan inhabitant, just like so many music people in this town — in my apartment building, sounds of piano lessons and Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet (the cello part, practiced at half-tempo) echo in the hallways.
As for what I do: I spend the lion’s share of my time on a pinch-me-I’m-dreaming admin job for MetLiveArts, the concert series at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. (Follow us on Instagram!) I also moonlight in a fabulous Presbyterian church choir on Fifth Ave, joining a legion of Jewish(-ish) singers who have attended more mass in the last three months than synagogue in their entire lives. Once upon a time I was a cellist, and I even dabbled on gut strings — these days, my cellos mostly sit in my bedroom gathering dust.
And, of course, I write. I’ve been reviewing (mostly) classical music since 2019, when I was the summer intern for the Metropolitan Opera Guild’s great, soon-to-be-late magazine Opera News. As a personal challenge, I decided to review 50 concerts over that muggy NYC summer, chronicling the whole journey on a rinky-dink blog entitled Classical Music Geek. My audience was next to nil — a godsend, in hindsight — but I puttered along, perpetually 10 reviews behind schedule.
I cannot believe #1Summer50Concerts — yes, my marketing-professional mother convinced me to hashtag it — was only four years ago. It feels like three lifetimes. Now, I cover everything from free improvisation to string quartets shooting toward stardom to the Baroque lutenist I worshipped in high school. (I ran into him at a party last night, does that mean I made it?) Classical Music Geek died peacefully in October 2022, when a new profusion of freelance work swallowed all of my free time. For that glut, I thank Stephen Rubin, the critic-turned-publishing-mogul who founded the United States’ only nerd camp for music critics. As my colleague (and fellow nerd camp alum) A.Z. Madonna so aptly said, it felt like a disturbance in the force when Rubin died a couple weeks ago. But the Rubin Institute thankfully lives on, and applications open again shortly — I’ve already given them my testimonial.
So, why am I here? Simply, it feels like time. My life as a freelance writer has yielded some of my proudest work, and by no means am I giving up that side of my practice. But as I continue to write for craft and depth and meaning, I find myself needing a place to roll up my sleeves. A place where I can flesh out the pitches that are a little too stupid, a little too personal for any industry publication. A place where I can talk about how the classical music world looks to someone who eats, breathes, and sleeps it. (My usual euphemism here is a touch bawdy for edition one — ask me in person.)
Plus, I want to write more about New York. I’ve loved every one of the features, profiles, and mid- to long-form reviews I’ve written in the last year, but I can only fit so many of those into my schedule. What about those many, many other ensembles that have fed my steady diet of four (five, six, nine) concerts per week? And it’s not just the performances. My ears are always on, and I’ve had transcendent musical experiences where I thought I’d never find them. But the Times would never take a review of the A train busker whose “Cielito Lindo” made me cry at 11am on a Saturday!
But most of all, I’m doing this for myself. My relationship with writing is sort of broken at the moment. Because writing occupies this nebulous space between work and life, much of the associated angst leaches into my everyday existence. Even as I sat down to write this opening — which was supposed to be fun! — my cortisol levels rose and my heart started to race. Writing is the single greatest source of stress in my life, and I want to reclaim the love of writing I found in that first 50-concert summer.
I’m not quite sure what this space will be. I’ll publish once a month(ish), and it’ll definitely include musings, concert and album reviews, and most importantly, listings for upcoming NYC performances. I’m in no rush to nail down a format, but I’ll always try to have something for everyone — the prospective NYC concertgoer, the casual listener seeking Spotify recommendations, the person who wants to read a 600-word ramble on the heckelphone. (After all, I am still THE classical music geek.)
If I’m writing about something, it’s generally because I like it. Life’s too short. Catty reviews may be funny, but a strong endorsement potentially increases engagement with classical music — and in a world where interest is low, shouldn’t that be our universal goal? (If you want catty, come with me to a concert…)
And one other thing: in this house, we gas up our friends. I’m lucky to operate in a sphere where my closest professional contacts are also the people I hug the hardest. I have absolutely no qualms about writing about my fantastic friends, conflict of interest be damned — I’ll always disclose it, but if that’s why you choose not to read on, well, don’t let the door hit you.
Friends, welcome once again, and thank you for joining me. I’m all ears.
What I’ve Seen
Each month, I’ll muse about a few of my favorite concerts from the past month. My goal is to develop the self-discipline to write mini-reviews on my post-concert subway trips, but that’s pretty aspirational.
In chronological order, some of my faves from the season’s beginnings:
Josquin sacred and profane in two Columbia venues with ars nova specialists Cut Circle (September 20). Headed by foremost U.S. Josquin scholar Jesse Rodin, Cut Circle are rare American dealers in that bright, buzzy, slightly shouty pierce that highlights polyphony’s most satisfying sinews. The first volume of their Josquin survey releases to Spotify any day now, but in the meantime, I highly recommend their Ockeghem and Dufay — they’re the only(?) North American ensemble on a label dedicated entirely to music of Francophone Belgium.
TAK Ensemble’s premiere of Eric Wubbels’ interbeing at The DiMenna Center (October 7). interbeing is music about coziness, even if virtuosic whinnies, frequency-specific electronic drones, and mixing bowls played as percussion don’t necessarily give warm fuzzies. The piece, reportedly seven years in the making, is a fascinating, theatrical rumination on concepts of togetherness, interdependence, and homes both metaphorical and literal — down to Wubbels’ western Massachusetts backyard, where he foraged several of the post-show reception’s goodies. Trio sinonó opened with agile, yet deeply profound readings of graphic scores and rapid-fire poem-songs by vocalist isabel crespo pardo. (My thousand-strong music video playlist just shuffled to a track from the late jaimie branch’s fly or die — if you haven’t seen sinonó cellist Lester St. Louis in branch’s incisive quartet, drop what you’re doing.)
The premiere of Kate Soper’s opera The Hunt at Columbia’s Miller Theatre (October 14). Inspired by her friend (and lead singer-actor) Brett Umlauf, Kate Soper picked up the ukulele explicitly to write this genre-defying piece of musical theater. As such, The Hunt makes cheeky nods to beginnerish noodling, at one point perching an entire musical number on one unstable chord. The modern-medieval tale, Soper’s own concept, investigates greed, freedom, and human nature through the lens of three virgins — among them three superhuman singers, two ukulele players, and a violinist — employed as unicorn bait by an unnamed imperial power. Ashley Kelly Tata’s production was grand, but economical, enlivened with stunning projections by designer-to-the-stars (and dear friend) Camilla Tassi. I am actively sad that this only happened twice, but it has infinite remount value — surely a robust U.S. tour is in store.
Patricia Brennan’s solo vibraphone set at The Stone (October 18). This is the third time in the last year that Brennan has stopped me in my tracks with a chorale. She always balances the voices of her four mallets so tenderly, caressing each note change so that dissonance never bites through the gauzy wash. Much of the evening’s music came from her first album, Maquishti, a New York Times top-ten jazz pick for 2021 and perfect rainy day album. (Her second record, a percussion-forward, groove-heavy quartet project, is entirely different — that’s what I wrote about earlier this year.)
Vox Luminis singing early Bach cantatas at Church of St. Mary the Virgin (October 20). Why does Columbia’s Miller Theatre hold their early music events in the most hellish armpit of a neighborhood between Times Square and Rockefeller Center? Because there’s one grand church on 46th Street — Smoky Mary’s, nicknamed for its clouds of incense — whose marble altar refracts polyphony like few other NYC spaces. Vox Luminis is the only ensemble for whom I clear my schedule, doubly so for this program of quirky cantatas from an early-career Bach. At two vocalists per part, their counterpoint was crisp, but their crescendi surged as a unified, cohesive wave. Hat tip to Adrienne Hyde, the recent Juilliard Historical Performance grad whose spirited continuo lines practically conducted the ensemble.
Emerson Quartet’s farewell at Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center (October 21). Like, it was time. But the energy in that room was unparalleled. Laser focus from the audience, barely a cough, not a single phone beep. The quartet’s performances, if a bit doddering, showed the deep respect and camaraderie that propelled the pivotal ensemble’s storied, 47-season career. It was an unmissable evening of tears, wisecracks, deep symbiotic gratitude, and the most emotionally laden Beethoven Op. 130 cavatina that ever was.
Handel’s Rodelinda at Hudson Hall (October 26). The article I wrote about this unique production funded a wonderful 24 hours of eating, drinking, and antique shopping in the chic riverside town of Hudson. Of course, I was there for the opera, and it lived up to the buzz I overheard. Shadow and light animated director R.B. Schlather’s gaunt, minimalist set, studded with props from an aesthetic antique kitchenware shop on the town’s main drag. Mezzo Sun-Ly Pierce’s “Vivi, tiranno” was on fire, and the Baroque band Ruckus were their usual rambunctious selves, egging each other on and making jolly two-step honky tonks from raging da capo arias. (And the food — oh, the food! Shout-outs to the pâté sandwich at Café Mutton, the schiacciata bread at Talbott & Arding, and the roast chicken at Kitty’s.)
What I’ve Listened To
Before you ask, I haven’t tried Apple Music Classical — as a committed Android user, I am a reluctant veteran of Spotify’s deepest, least metadata-populated classical crannies. There will be little rhyme or reason to my monthly album reviews. I’ll probably include disproportionately much early and choral music, because that’s what I most often reach for. Some of the albums will be new releases from the past few weeks. Some won’t be.
For the mushiest, gushiest album of I-love-you duets: Idylle (2023, Erato), the delightful new recital from newlyweds Lea Desandre and Thomas Dunford. They give their debut NYC duo recital at Carnegie Hall on Thursday — a different program, but lots of love nonetheless. (Yes, this is the same lutenist from above.)
To get up close and personal with French Baroque lute music: David Bergmüller’s Rhétorique du Silence (2023, Berlin Classics), whose mastering is so crisp that you can tell exactly what part of the finger the lutenist uses to pluck the string.
For harmonies so syrupy they’ll clog your arteries: O lieb! (2019, Aparté), the album of Liszt songs that formed French tenor Cyrille Dubois’ recorded solo debut (alongside pianist Tristan Raës). Every time he eases above the staff, some primal itch in my brain gets scratched.
For a laid-back homage to a NYC legend: Songs & Symphoniques: The Music of Moondog (2023, Cantaloupe), a joint venture between avant-garde titans Kronos Quartet (more on them coming soon) and early-jazz reinterpreters Ghost Train Orchestra. The album channels the playful Louis Hardin, aka Moondog, whose performances on the Midtown Manhattan sidewalk would greatly influence the first school of American minimalists.
To revel in the real main characters of a time-honored classic: Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas (2023, Pentatone) from British ensemble La Nuova Musica. Despite its title, Dido's true stars are the choir and orchestra, and with ingenious continuo and impeccable consonants, La Nuova Musica keeps the foot tapping.
For obscure, but charmingly odd choral music: the Danish National Radio Choir’s disc of Messiaen, Stockhausen, and Xenakis (1999, Chandos). Their anemic reading of Messiaen’s Cinq rechants is skippable, but the rest of the album shows the broad skill sets of two criminally misunderstood composers.
What’s Coming Up
New York lacks a comprehensive classical concert calendar. I have neither the time nor the energy to compile one, but each month, I’ll list the concerts that have caught my attention. I won’t be at all of them — shockingly, life occasionally pulls me away from the concert hall — but I hope the locals among you go to at least one or two!
All concerts are in the evening unless otherwise noted. Kindly click through and check the start times yourself — I’m a curator, not a secretary, and I take no responsibility for the mistakes in my GCal.
NY Phil: Mälkki Conducts Pictures at an Exhibition (and Ligeti’s Piano Concerto with Pierre-Laurent Aimard)
Thu-Sat Nov 2, 3 (matinee), and 4 | David Geffen Hall
Thomas Dunford and Lea Desandre: “Lettera Amorosa”
Thu Nov 2 | Weill Recital Hall, Carnegie Hall
Kronos Quartet: Five Decades
Fri Nov 3 | Stern Auditorium (Perelman Stage), Carnegie Hall
Met Opera: X
Fri Nov 3 and 24
Tue Nov 7, 14, and 28
Sat Nov 11, 18 (matinee), December 2
The Metropolitan Opera House
Dice Trio: Multiphonics Festival Recital Premiere (FREE)
Wed Nov 8 | Miller Recital Hall, Manhattan School of Music
BlackBox Ensemble: Space/Time/Memory (FREE)
Wed Nov 8 | The Noguchi Museum
Heartbeat Opera’s Annual Drag Extravaganza: The Golden Cock
Thu-Fri Nov 9 and 10 (three total performances) | Roulette Intermedium
Sir Bryn Terfel in Recital
Tue Nov 14 | Stern Auditorium (Perelman Stage), Carnegie Hall
John Zorn at 70: Barbara Hannigan + John Zorn
Thu Nov 16 | Miller Theatre, Columbia University
Pacific Opera Project: Scalia/Ginsburg and Trial by Jury
Fri-Sun Nov 17, 18, 19 (matinee) and 24, 25, 26 (matinee)
Highland Park Ebell Club, Los Angeles
Ghost Train Orchestra plays Moondog
Sat Nov 18 | Roulette Intermedium
Music Before 1800 | TENET: The Lady Fortune (Machaut & De Vitry)
Sun Nov 19 (matinee) | Corpus Christi Catholic Church
NY Phil: The Planets and Atmosphères
Wed, Fri, Sat Nov 22, 24, 25 | David Geffen Hall
Ekmeles and Strings: Works by Haas, Trueman, Di Castri, Gueglio, and Johnson
Wed, Nov 29 | The DiMenna Center
The Jazz Gallery Fellowship Commission 2023 presents Ben Wendel (and four vibraphones!)
Wed-Thu Nov 29 and 30 at 7:30pm and 9:30pm | The Jazz Gallery
Emery, you've birthed a welcome addition to the Substack-verse! Can't wait to read more.