Pulse - The Planets Night

It’s a transcendental thing really, nothing of substance that can be studied with the hands or instruments. It has only two requirements that are open to everybody. Be in the right place at the right time and be open to observation. The moments are common for everyone. A song ending just as you arrive somewhere, rhythms beating to disconnected activities around you while you sit in your car, an exuberant noise rising from the dead of night to enunciate the poignancy of a thought or idea, so seemingly driven by intent that it’s enough to believe the world is agreeing with you.

And as spontaneous and chaotic as these moments may seem, the experience is what stays, and we are changed. The magic of music is the shared encounter between strangers.

And so, I’d like to take you to Friday, August 22, 2008 for the SPAC presentation of “Planets Night,” featuring Saratoga’s beloved and revered Philadelphia Orchestra.

It had begun as pure curiosity. Taking complete advantage of the twenty minute walk from my apartment to the Performing Arts Center, Planets Night sent red flags across this year’s calendar of events. I promised myself that I would attend an orchestral performance this season, and that

I would not miss a night dedicated to the retelling of the solar system through classical resonance.

Arm-in-arm with my beautiful date, we arrived forty or so minutes before the start of the evening at the Hall of Springs Box Office. The line for tickets was stacked back to the fountain in front of the Hall of Springs, and many who joined the queue after us could not believe how many people had arrived. Through the ticket gate, you could see most of the lawn was already taken up ten or so feet from the foot paths inside, and there were large white tents and tables standing in the grass across from the gate, causing spectators to mill about in conversation and interest.

Passing through the gate, the grounds opened onto a countless number of anticipating concert-goers calmly waiting in chairs or on blankets in the fading twilight.

Immediately to our left were tables and flyers and brochures and pamphlets carrying the name Dudley Observatory, located in Schenectady (www.dudleyobservatory.com). Their tables were filled with smiling faces who handed us free CD’s about the Sun, 3-D glasses accompanying images of the Martian surface, and I was told that the observatory maintained original manuscripts from Copernicus himself.

Behind the display tables, we could see an assortment of amateur astronomers setting up very fancy telescopes and lenses of sorts. Not only was there to be glorious celestial music, but we would be privy to the stars and planets themselves after the performance.

Still sporting the red and blue glasses, hoping they might add a slightly altered perspective to the excitement, bell-chimes could be heard from the amphitheater, much like the sound I heard growing up whenever someone rang our door bell, and heeding the call, my date and I found a spot high on the grass to lay our blanket down.

Unlike other concerts, alcohol was not restricted to a chain-link pen, and many people leisurely sipped from uncorked wine bottles or pulled on frothy cups of beer. There is little to compare with lying in the grass listening to an orchestra warm up with an adult beverage to indulge. All around the sound of running, laughing children, musicians in their own way, subsided to ushering calls of family. Long live Civility.

When the performers on stage were set and ready and waiting for Charles Dutoit, principle conductor for the Saratoga season, a full symphony lay before us on the white stage along with the Women of the Philadelphia Singers Chorale. The orchestra opened with Claude Debussy’s Nocturnes, a work in three movements titled, “Clouds”, “Festivals”, and “Sirens.” “Clouds” opened under the gray blue-green of the sky, quite appropriate for the wisps of cirrus stroked here and there.

Instantly, it all felt reminiscent of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer, when the narrator describes the surrealistic experience of attending a classical performance in Paris. The first movement was wonderful. The piece was oboe laden, following with violin, airy crescendo from piano, if not pianissimo, to mezzo forte. The flutes followed with airy breaths. The music toned with suspended melodies against an accompaniment of long drawn ambience and sustain. And with the conclusion of “Clouds”, the bassoon and tympani worked to tuck away whatever clouds lay ambling.

“Festivals” was an unusual piece, and I found myself actively listening more to this second movement than I had the first. I suppose I was expecting an Eastern European accent to the second movement, but I was far from disappointed. A Western European air pervaded the progression, and the distinct pronunciation was one I was not familiar with. “Festivals” quickly evolved into the reflections of a foreign observer experiencing the progression of a traditional celebration. I felt like the outsider watching a spanning scene of a town festival, loose but linear.

Listening, we were brought through the streets and amidst the commotion happening all around, through dance and games. And at times, the orchestra erupted in a way that suggested the unexpected was blossoming in fits of activity surprising and unexpected to those familiar with the festival traditions.

The twilight gave way to the night’s deep fashion, which was exceptional for the third and final movement “Sirens.” In between the second and third movement, the humming of crickets and other summer insects sounded like their own electric bug orchestra.

The women of the Chorale sang eerily sweet wordless phrases that pulled your ears closer and closer. Their voices pervaded amongst the instruments, and the evening stars came out over the stage, blinking into the sky like ship torches as seen from shore, enticed by the enchanting polyphony.

The orchestra shed some of its musicians and readied for the next performance. There were so many stars out now, I could see them peering down at us through the dense boughs of the white pine lumbering above our heads.

Having never heard Sergei Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No.1 in D-flat major, Op.10, or any Prokofiev at all, I was extremely pleased with the composition. The concerto, which premiered 97 years earlier to the month, was driven by the wonderful and talented Yuja Wang on piano.

Her hands rattled the keys with unbelievable command. Having an ear for Russian piano, Yuja Wang’s performance brought forth inklings of Rachmaninov, an almost satirical Scriabin mood in how extraordinarily energetic the hands play, undulating across a broad, ivory smile. Taken aback, a standing ovation was all I could do to express the sheer joy. The audience concurred, as Yuja Wang came out on stage three times after concluding the concerto to the frantic calls from spectators.

A brief intermission brought us back to Earth eager for the final symphony, Gustav Holst’s “The Planets.” The Planets is broken into seven parts, “Mars, the Bringer of War,” “Venus, the Bringer of Peace,” “Mercury, the Winged Messenger,” “Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity,” “Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age,” “Uranus, the Magician” and “Neptune, the Mystic.” You may be familiar with parts of Holt’s composition if you’ve ever seen Star Wars.

Each part to The Planets carries its own delivery and story. It is unclear to me whether the music was composed as a tonal libation to the gods, or whether it is the music alone that evokes such reverend distinction. But one thing is for certain, each of the seven parts as performed by the Philadelphia Orchestra is a journey unto its own above and beyond the familiar nuance of the Earthly realm.

Following the impassioned, battle-savvy “Mars” and the warming, calm, and endearing “Venus” pieces, “Mercury,” one of my favorites, played as if depicting exchanges of ranting deities bantering to the messenger who carried the messages with flitting conveyance. “Mercury” was also one of my favorites because just after the third movement had begun, a bright, white star ripped across the sky as we lay listening , watching the heavens, and I believed that shooting star to be Mercury incarnate caught streaming across the cosmic abyss.

We were shown the grand and pervading presence of the largest planet in our solar system in “Jupiter.” “Saturn” brought forth an inevitable feeling under the influence of a funeral march. Lastly, “Uranus” and “Neptune” left us with hypnotic fantasy and a mysterious lyrical close to the composition, each inspiring at least two shooting stars above the amphitheater.

Overall, my date and I witnessed three shooting stars each during the Philadelphia Orchestra’s rendition of The Planets, which seemed to embody the incredible performance.

But the night was not over with the conclusion of music. The amateur astronomers welcomed the transfixed crowd and urged them to peer into lenses opening up the universe. Jupiter was as visible in the southern sky as an orange looking star. Through the telescopes, you could see the planet, the very same celebrated in song moments ago, and you could make out two large red gas bands on the peach-pale skin of the planet. Surrounding Jupiter in the tight black of space, three of the four Galilean satellites, small bluish stars, could be seen in the field of vision. You could barely make out a small dark circle on the face of the planet, which was described to us as the shadow of a moon passing between the planet and the Sun during eclipse. We were also shown a couple dual star systems, such as Oberion, which are composed of two stars locked in orbital dance. The friendly sky-watchers seemed even friendlier since the conclusion of the concert, and they were very willing to talk about light speed and the phantom impressions of constellations whose stars have long since died but remain unchanged to observers like us.

Trust me, to see a planet across the curvature of time and space itself as a marble in your eye is the most dumb-founding and awe-inspiring sensation.

I urge you to take in the Philadelphia Orchestra as well as visit the Dudley Observatory. Visit the wonderful Saratoga State Park, support our local organizations and I hope to see you at the next Planets Night. I promise the experience will be out of this world.