Fratres by Arvo Pärt
1/10/09 12:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kateArvo Pärt is a still-living Estonian minimalist composer who writes some of the most stark and beautiful music I've ever heard. Considering most of the things I love by him have been written in my lifetime, it's amazing that there is such easy-to-hear beauty in them (contemporary music is sometimes what I call 'crunchy' - hard to understand aurally, and while I like that (because I love an intellectual challenge), it's not something I can recommend to people who aren't well-versed in contemporary analytical techniques).
This, though, is simply gorgeous, and I think pretty much anyone can hear and understand this piece and the beauty behind it.
Fratres I was originally written in 1977 for string quartet, and then the composer arranged it for solo violin and string orchestra with percussion. It's one of a very few pieces for violin that I truly love. And, Gil Shaham is one of the very few violinists that I truly love.
Fratres by the Gothenburg Symphony, conducted by Neeme Järvi, with Gil Shaham on violin. (If you like this, the album also has Pärt's Tabula Rasa (with Gil on violin) and the 3rd Symphony. Love love love and highly recommend.
So some of you know that I'm writing a music AU where Rodney is a violinist. Well, Rodney sounds just like Gil Shaham - the soundtrack has a ton of pieces by Gil on it. I have Rodney playing this piece - recording it, in fact, with the Boston Symphony Orchestra (under Maestro Ronon Dex), with John in the audience.
Six am comes ridiculously early in the morning, though Sheppard knocking on the door with a steaming cup of coffee certainly takes a bit of the edge off. "Let's go, sleepyhead."
Rodney groans and grabs the mug out of Sheppard's hands, drinking it in five long gulps. Sheppard laughs, taking the cup back and threatening not to provide any more coffee if Rodney isn't dressed and ready to go in half an hour.
Rodney showers and dresses, jeans and t-shirt good enough to record in. He used to dress for every rehearsal, his father's reprimands about dressing for success ringing in his ears. He's old enough and respected enough to skip the suits all the time, though he usually dresses for the first rehearsal – especially with an orchestra that he hasn't played with in a while.
Boston is a second home to him, though, and as much as some of the musicians hate him, they all respect him, and Rodney's pretty sure the recording is going to be a huge success. The Pärt is a beautiful piece, and paired with his third symphony that the BSO is recording, it could bring them two or more Grammies.
Sheppard sits on the floor level today, a few rows back from the engineer. Rodney's worked with Amelia before – a solid engineer with a good ear and a good work ethic.
"You know the drill," she says, and before Rodney can answer, she's listing off the usual routine. "Wait for the red light, give at least a good three count of silence before you start and a five count of silence after you finish. Don't shuffle your feet or move too much; the stage is old and might creak. Remember to listen for the echo of the hall, and start your five count after all the sound has died away." She turns around and glares at Sheppard. "I don't normally allow anyone else to be in the hall, so if you make any noise at all, I will kick you out myself."
Sheppard sits up straight in his chair and Rodney can't help laughing. Amelia turns back around and Rodney clears his throat self-consciously. "Okay," she says, "give me a couple of harmonics for the high range."
It takes half an hour to get everything set up to Banks's specifications, and she glances back at Sheppard to make sure he's sitting still before she nods at Rodney and gives him a countdown with her fingers. The red light comes on and he counts to ten, since the last time he counted to three and started playing, she'd stopped him before he'd even gotten three notes in to explain that he should count one-Mississippi and not just one-two-three (which he had, but apparently too quickly for her tastes).
The first pass is tight, too technical and edgy sounding for his tastes. He's tempted to stop and ask her for a new take, but she gives him death glares when he does that, so he continues, trying to loosen up his bow arm so he can get the sound he's looking for.
Sheppard's leaning forward in his chair, as still as a stone, proving he knows when not to mess with someone, because Banks is a black belt and really would kick him out on his ass.
He finishes, the top note of the pizz not even coming across, and he has to keep himself from groaning as he counts to twenty-five and waits for the little red light to shut off.
"That was awful," he says, setting his violin on a chair and pinwheeling his arms. "I feel like my arms weigh two hundred pounds."
"Don't worry," Amelia says, writing things in her score. "We've got an hour and a half before the BSO shows up, you've got time for at least ten takes. We'll get one."
Four takes later, Amelia doesn't look quite so hopeful. "Listen," she says, standing and stretching. "I'm going to go get some coffee. There's a Dunkin Donuts up the street. Why don't you stretch or meditate or something, and I'll be back in about fifteen minutes."
Rodney sighs and plops down into one of the chairs onstage as Sheppard makes his way over. The stage is too high for him to jump, so he hoists himself up and Rodney watches the bunch of his biceps under his t-shirt, glancing away before Sheppard catches him at it.
"What's going on?" Sheppard asks, standing in front of Rodney with his hands in his pockets. "I thought you liked this piece."
"I love this piece," Rodney answers. He does; it's gorgeous and lush in a stripped down way. "I just feel uptight. I haven't recorded in a while, maybe I just need to stretch things out a bit. It takes a while to get into the feel of a performance when there's no conductor or strings, or anyone else to feed off of."
Sheppard nods and listens while Rodney talks, the whole while circling Rodney slowly until he's standing behind Rodney's chair. "What are you doing?" Rodney asks nervously.
"Just relax," Sheppard says, and digs his fingers into Rodney's muscles. "Damn, you're tense."
"Didn't I just say that?" Rodney says, but his head drops forward, and he can feel his shoulders loosening under Sheppard's warm hands. Other things are tightening up, though, and if he lets Sheppard continue, he won't be able to stand up when Amelia gets back. "Right, good, thank you," he says, standing and bending over to pick up his violin.
"I'm here," Sheppard says, squeezing Rodney's shoulder when he comes back upright. "I'm your audience. Play to me." He hops down and takes his seat again, leaning forward like he's waiting for Rodney to start.
"What, now?" Rodney asks, and Sheppard jerks his head in an impatient nod.
Rodney puts his violin up and concentrates on Sheppard for a second while he sets his fingers and bow. Sheppard's staring at him intently, his furrowed brow making his face look stern. They're too far apart to really be staring into each other's eyes, but it still feels intimate somehow, and when Rodney finally pulls his bow across the strings, the arpeggios grow out of a perfectly controlled whisper of sound that make it feel like he's getting ready to take off.
He closes his eyes as he continues, the arpeggios finally speaking to him, intensifying infinitesimally with every note until the cadenza reaches the zenith and he plucks the pizzicato, perfect and round, followed by a secretive second pizzicato, something so barely-there he almost can't hear it himself until the echo comes back to him from the hall.
He takes a deep breath and releases it, opening his eyes and grinning at Sheppard. Amelia is standing in the doorway, a tray of coffees in hand, staring open-mouthed at Rodney.
"Whatever that was, you do it again right now," she says, and rushes over to her table. "Do it just like that or I won't give you the coffee I got you."
Rodney plays three more perfect takes before Amelia turns over the coffee, decreeing they've got what they need on the opening. Then she makes him do the ending col legno chords fifteen times before she lets him go, calling someone on the phone and telling them to let the musicians inside the building.
The rest of the morning goes by for Rodney in a strange hyperaware state. He has never felt so completely in control of the music, every nuance coming across with perfect clarity. Ronon clearly feels it too, as his conducting takes on a luminous feel, like he's pouring strings of light over the orchestra and reeling them in to a private performance for the empty seats and marble statues.
The hushed feeling makes the chorale even more luxurious, and they play through the piece twice from top to bottom before Amelia starts making them record small sections of the music between the major reference points just in case.
The feeling fades as the technical part of the recording grates on him, but he's still weirdly cheerful as they finish up and he shakes everyone's hand, even Chaya. He wishes he could take it back when he sees her trying to catch Sheppard's eye, and the nods of recognition that pass between them before Sheppard catches his elbow and leads him offstage.
This, though, is simply gorgeous, and I think pretty much anyone can hear and understand this piece and the beauty behind it.
Fratres I was originally written in 1977 for string quartet, and then the composer arranged it for solo violin and string orchestra with percussion. It's one of a very few pieces for violin that I truly love. And, Gil Shaham is one of the very few violinists that I truly love.
Fratres by the Gothenburg Symphony, conducted by Neeme Järvi, with Gil Shaham on violin. (If you like this, the album also has Pärt's Tabula Rasa (with Gil on violin) and the 3rd Symphony. Love love love and highly recommend.
So some of you know that I'm writing a music AU where Rodney is a violinist. Well, Rodney sounds just like Gil Shaham - the soundtrack has a ton of pieces by Gil on it. I have Rodney playing this piece - recording it, in fact, with the Boston Symphony Orchestra (under Maestro Ronon Dex), with John in the audience.
Six am comes ridiculously early in the morning, though Sheppard knocking on the door with a steaming cup of coffee certainly takes a bit of the edge off. "Let's go, sleepyhead."
Rodney groans and grabs the mug out of Sheppard's hands, drinking it in five long gulps. Sheppard laughs, taking the cup back and threatening not to provide any more coffee if Rodney isn't dressed and ready to go in half an hour.
Rodney showers and dresses, jeans and t-shirt good enough to record in. He used to dress for every rehearsal, his father's reprimands about dressing for success ringing in his ears. He's old enough and respected enough to skip the suits all the time, though he usually dresses for the first rehearsal – especially with an orchestra that he hasn't played with in a while.
Boston is a second home to him, though, and as much as some of the musicians hate him, they all respect him, and Rodney's pretty sure the recording is going to be a huge success. The Pärt is a beautiful piece, and paired with his third symphony that the BSO is recording, it could bring them two or more Grammies.
Sheppard sits on the floor level today, a few rows back from the engineer. Rodney's worked with Amelia before – a solid engineer with a good ear and a good work ethic.
"You know the drill," she says, and before Rodney can answer, she's listing off the usual routine. "Wait for the red light, give at least a good three count of silence before you start and a five count of silence after you finish. Don't shuffle your feet or move too much; the stage is old and might creak. Remember to listen for the echo of the hall, and start your five count after all the sound has died away." She turns around and glares at Sheppard. "I don't normally allow anyone else to be in the hall, so if you make any noise at all, I will kick you out myself."
Sheppard sits up straight in his chair and Rodney can't help laughing. Amelia turns back around and Rodney clears his throat self-consciously. "Okay," she says, "give me a couple of harmonics for the high range."
It takes half an hour to get everything set up to Banks's specifications, and she glances back at Sheppard to make sure he's sitting still before she nods at Rodney and gives him a countdown with her fingers. The red light comes on and he counts to ten, since the last time he counted to three and started playing, she'd stopped him before he'd even gotten three notes in to explain that he should count one-Mississippi and not just one-two-three (which he had, but apparently too quickly for her tastes).
The first pass is tight, too technical and edgy sounding for his tastes. He's tempted to stop and ask her for a new take, but she gives him death glares when he does that, so he continues, trying to loosen up his bow arm so he can get the sound he's looking for.
Sheppard's leaning forward in his chair, as still as a stone, proving he knows when not to mess with someone, because Banks is a black belt and really would kick him out on his ass.
He finishes, the top note of the pizz not even coming across, and he has to keep himself from groaning as he counts to twenty-five and waits for the little red light to shut off.
"That was awful," he says, setting his violin on a chair and pinwheeling his arms. "I feel like my arms weigh two hundred pounds."
"Don't worry," Amelia says, writing things in her score. "We've got an hour and a half before the BSO shows up, you've got time for at least ten takes. We'll get one."
Four takes later, Amelia doesn't look quite so hopeful. "Listen," she says, standing and stretching. "I'm going to go get some coffee. There's a Dunkin Donuts up the street. Why don't you stretch or meditate or something, and I'll be back in about fifteen minutes."
Rodney sighs and plops down into one of the chairs onstage as Sheppard makes his way over. The stage is too high for him to jump, so he hoists himself up and Rodney watches the bunch of his biceps under his t-shirt, glancing away before Sheppard catches him at it.
"What's going on?" Sheppard asks, standing in front of Rodney with his hands in his pockets. "I thought you liked this piece."
"I love this piece," Rodney answers. He does; it's gorgeous and lush in a stripped down way. "I just feel uptight. I haven't recorded in a while, maybe I just need to stretch things out a bit. It takes a while to get into the feel of a performance when there's no conductor or strings, or anyone else to feed off of."
Sheppard nods and listens while Rodney talks, the whole while circling Rodney slowly until he's standing behind Rodney's chair. "What are you doing?" Rodney asks nervously.
"Just relax," Sheppard says, and digs his fingers into Rodney's muscles. "Damn, you're tense."
"Didn't I just say that?" Rodney says, but his head drops forward, and he can feel his shoulders loosening under Sheppard's warm hands. Other things are tightening up, though, and if he lets Sheppard continue, he won't be able to stand up when Amelia gets back. "Right, good, thank you," he says, standing and bending over to pick up his violin.
"I'm here," Sheppard says, squeezing Rodney's shoulder when he comes back upright. "I'm your audience. Play to me." He hops down and takes his seat again, leaning forward like he's waiting for Rodney to start.
"What, now?" Rodney asks, and Sheppard jerks his head in an impatient nod.
Rodney puts his violin up and concentrates on Sheppard for a second while he sets his fingers and bow. Sheppard's staring at him intently, his furrowed brow making his face look stern. They're too far apart to really be staring into each other's eyes, but it still feels intimate somehow, and when Rodney finally pulls his bow across the strings, the arpeggios grow out of a perfectly controlled whisper of sound that make it feel like he's getting ready to take off.
He closes his eyes as he continues, the arpeggios finally speaking to him, intensifying infinitesimally with every note until the cadenza reaches the zenith and he plucks the pizzicato, perfect and round, followed by a secretive second pizzicato, something so barely-there he almost can't hear it himself until the echo comes back to him from the hall.
He takes a deep breath and releases it, opening his eyes and grinning at Sheppard. Amelia is standing in the doorway, a tray of coffees in hand, staring open-mouthed at Rodney.
"Whatever that was, you do it again right now," she says, and rushes over to her table. "Do it just like that or I won't give you the coffee I got you."
Rodney plays three more perfect takes before Amelia turns over the coffee, decreeing they've got what they need on the opening. Then she makes him do the ending col legno chords fifteen times before she lets him go, calling someone on the phone and telling them to let the musicians inside the building.
The rest of the morning goes by for Rodney in a strange hyperaware state. He has never felt so completely in control of the music, every nuance coming across with perfect clarity. Ronon clearly feels it too, as his conducting takes on a luminous feel, like he's pouring strings of light over the orchestra and reeling them in to a private performance for the empty seats and marble statues.
The hushed feeling makes the chorale even more luxurious, and they play through the piece twice from top to bottom before Amelia starts making them record small sections of the music between the major reference points just in case.
The feeling fades as the technical part of the recording grates on him, but he's still weirdly cheerful as they finish up and he shakes everyone's hand, even Chaya. He wishes he could take it back when he sees her trying to catch Sheppard's eye, and the nods of recognition that pass between them before Sheppard catches his elbow and leads him offstage.
no subject
on 12/10/09 05:18 am (UTC)no subject
on 12/10/09 05:19 am (UTC)Loff!!
no subject
on 12/10/09 06:42 am (UTC)no subject
on 12/10/09 11:24 am (UTC)no subject
on 12/10/09 09:30 pm (UTC)2) I love this. The idea, the execution, this was just marvellous to read. I have only one complaint. I KNOW i've read more of this AU from you before AND I CANNOT FIND IT NOW! There was more, I know it. I know it was you who wrote it. Why can I not find it again!?! I wants more! More! Mooooooooore!
Ok I'm sorry, it's been a really long day and I think there was too much sugar in the jam on my toast and so forth that is impeding my normal functioning capabilities.
no subject
on 12/11/09 03:54 am (UTC)