Writing

On Music

Music exists in a subjective form, more abstract than any other forms of art. It is impossible to establish an absolute standard in its esthetic judgment. The same music can be received very differently by the same listener under specific mental and environmental conditions, which applies to program music, and even more so, to contemporary music. The composer writes down what he or she thinks will depict the subject (emotion, image, scenery, event etc.) under a given situation. At a different time or place, in a certain mood or condition, the performer will translate the abstract symbols of the notes into actual sound as what he or she thinks is the right interpretation of the music. In turn will the abstract sound be perceived by the listener using his or her own God-sent sensation and emotion circumscribed by the definite situation he or she is subject to.

Music comes to life the moment it is received rather than it is created, the value of its existence imbedded in the form as a medium. Any specific literal interpretation of it will be taken as arbitrary not without dilemma. Music, after all, belongs to the realm where “I think, therefore I am.”

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“Concern”

Many years ago, I attended a concert by an international master composer whom I deeply admired. After listening to his rather avant-garde masterwork, I was honored to be invited to have coffee with him. During our conversation, he asked me, “Was my music today too accessible?” Somewhat puzzled, I replied, “No, but why not?” He paused for a moment, reflected, and nodded knowingly.

That brief exchange made me think a great deal. The gulf between contemporary music and the general audience has become undeniable, and the endless pursuit of novelty in new music has only widened that gap. A composer with a strong personal voice will inevitably create some distance from ordinary listeners while pursuing his or her own artistic realm. But should this distance be seen as something unavoidable—or is it a deliberate pursuit?

Consider the situation of composers in Mozart’s time in the West. Whether one listened in the courts, concert halls, salons, taverns, or even on the streets, the musical vocabulary and style were largely similar; what differed was the quality. Even the most innovative works by genius composers were still pleasant and comprehensible to monarchs, aristocrats, and common folk alike. Composers could achieve both artistic transcendence and widespread appreciation at the same time.

Today, things are very different. Setting aside other genres, even within classical music there are numerous schools, each with its own musical language and techniques. Works admired by the academic world may sound utterly alien to the average listener, while pieces that appeal to general audiences are often dismissed by academia. In this endless competition of radical innovation, composers must struggle to survive between the expectations of the academic establishment and the acceptance of ordinary listeners. To please academia and to be welcomed by general audiences have become almost mutually exclusive goals. Is this not the dilemma faced by today’s composers?

I believe that most artistic creators hope for their works to be appreciated—or at the very least, accepted. Composers are no exception, as music is ultimately meant to be heard by people. Therefore, as contemporary composers, is it not our responsibility not only to use our work to enhance listeners’ understanding and appreciation of modern music, but also to set aside our pride and consider narrowing this widening gap as a new form of creativity, even as we pursue originality?

Perhaps my concerns are needless worries. Yet as widely known, even by the late 20th century, some internationally renowned masters had already begun shifting toward a more accessible musical language. Some prestigious composition competitions have even started to include “listenability” among their judging criteria. Is this not, in some way, a form of reflection?

We respect the pioneers who bravely experiment in solitude for the sake of musical progress, and we are grateful to the performers, conductors, and orchestras who risk box-office value to promote new works. Remembering our roots while harboring genuine concern, we can only hope that classical music may continue to flow on for generations to come.

Phil Young
2016

“Elim Chan Conduct SF Symphony”

So happy to see the news that Elim Chan got appointed the music director of the SF Symphony. It reminded me of an article I wrote in Chinese after I attended SF Symphony concert led by her in 2023 (my first time seeing her conducting), I still find the article quite interesting myself, so I translated it into English and share it now:

“Recently, California has been drenched by relentless rainstorms, with severe flooding affecting many areas. As a result, I had rarely ventured out. But on Thursday, January 12, California’s familiar gentle sunshine finally returned. In a refreshed and cheerful mood, I went with a friend to hear the San Francisco Symphony in a concert that unexpectedly brought me delightful surprises. Yet these surprises did not come from the magnificent playing of the San Francisco Symphony—an orchestra I have long adored—but rather from a rising star of the classical music world: the 36-year-old guest conductor Elim Chan, with whom I had previously been less familiar.

The first time I saw Elim Chan’s slightly youthful-looking photograph in the San Francisco Symphony’s promotional materials, I mistakenly assumed she was a young prize-winning soloist scheduled to collaborate with the orchestra. Upon closer inspection, I realized that she was in fact the conductor for the concert, which admittedly surprised me. And when I first saw her walking toward the podium in the concert hall, that surprise briefly resurfaced in my mind. Petite in stature, with an appearance and demeanor more reminiscent of a university student one might encounter on any college campus, she seemed almost disarmingly youthful.

Yet the moment she stepped onto the podium, raised her baton, and set the orchestra in motion, all of those initial impressions gradually vanished.

There emerged a level of confidence, authority, and command that only great conductors possess—a complete assurance and an unshakable control over the orchestra. In an instant, my visual misconceptions were swept away. There was something almost magnetic about her presence. Throughout the concert, I found it difficult to take my eyes off her conducting: precise, economical, yet deeply expressive. Her left hand marked rhythms with the sharpness of a blade, while her baton flowed with remarkable suppleness and fluidity. It was among the most convincing conducting gestures I have ever witnessed. Every musician in the orchestra seemed bound by invisible steel threads in her hands, unable—or unwilling—to escape. This inseparable bond between conductor and orchestra created a seamless unity of rhythm and phrasing, which, after all, is perhaps the most essential function of orchestral conducting.

Unable to resist my curiosity, I searched for more information about her online and discovered that she had already earned widespread critical acclaim in major international media. Though still relatively young, she has rapidly emerged as one of the most sought-after conductors among leading orchestras around the world. Inevitably, she reminded me of the meteoric rise of Gustavo Dudamel years ago.

Born in Hong Kong in 1986, Chan initially began her studies in medicine before switching to music during her second year of university. She later studied in the United States, earning both master’s and doctoral degrees in music from the University of Michigan. In 2014, she made history as the first woman ever to win the Donatella Flick Conducting Competition. She subsequently served as Assistant Conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra during the 2015–16 season. Currently, she is Chief Conductor of the Antwerp Symphony Orchestra, having previously served as Principal Guest Conductor of the Royal Scottish National Orchestra. In addition to the San Francisco Symphony, she has collaborated with many distinguished ensembles, including the Vienna Symphony, the ORF Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra, the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, the Orchestre de Paris, and the Los Angeles Philharmonic. For someone so young to have achieved so much in such a short time is truly remarkable.

And after witnessing her performance in this concert, none of those honors surprised me in the slightest.

The concert opened with a world premiere commissioned by the San Francisco Symphony: Moondog by American composer Elizabeth Ogonek. The work sought to evoke a dreamlike atmosphere inspired by gazing into a richly colored night sky. The composer fully achieved her intention. Through the imaginative interplay of sonic textures and blocks of sound, combined with hazy harmonies and melodic contours, the work created an impressionistic, dreamlike sonic landscape. Chan’s conducting brought every detail vividly to life. Her gestures seemed to treat the orchestra as a painter’s palette—summoning colors, dissolving textures, endlessly shaping transformations. The premiere was a tremendous success, and one could clearly sense the composer’s gratitude toward both conductor and orchestra as she walked from the audience onto the stage to take her bows.

The second work on the program was one of my favorite instrumental masterpieces: Prokofiev’s Violin Concerto No. 2. The soloist, Canadian violinist James Ehnes, became the concert’s second great surprise for me.

To be completely honest, I had not been particularly familiar with Ehnes before this performance. Yet his extraordinary artistry throughout the evening repeatedly left me astonished. Because of my deep affection for this concerto, I own several recordings by distinguished masters and have also had opportunities to hear different live performances. Generally speaking, while live concerts offer the excitement of spontaneity and unpredictability that recordings inevitably lack, they often fall short in terms of technical perfection and balance—whether among orchestral voices or between soloist and ensemble—due to the unavoidable realities of live performance.

Ehnes completely dispelled those concerns.

His playing combined the emotional immediacy of live performance with an almost flawless technical perfection usually associated only with studio recordings. His tone was exquisitely beautiful—smooth as silk. In the highest register, his rapid passages were astonishingly accurate, his sound meticulously refined, and his musicianship utterly free of affectation.

In the second movement, he seemed simply to sing through the violin. The lyrical line of the solo violin, floating above the orchestra’s gentle rhythmic accompaniment in shifting two-against-three patterns, created the sensation of drifting through clouds—breathtakingly beautiful. Chan’s conducting provided gear-like precision between soloist and orchestra while maintaining a perfectly judged sonic balance. The performance felt as polished and complete as a superb recording.

Of course, one must also give credit to the magnificent 1715 “Marsick” Stradivarius violin he played.

In my mind, Prokofiev belongs to the same category of genius as Mozart—music that feels endlessly inventive, as though it simply pours forth naturally. During the concerto, I was also struck by Prokofiev’s wonderfully unconventional orchestration: the parallel melodic writing between solo violin and double basses; muted violas moving alongside the bass line; the unexpected pairing of solo violin with bass drum—such imaginative combinations continually revealed themselves.

After intermission, Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 2 brought the concert to its emotional climax. (Many Chinese music lovers affectionately refer to Tchaikovsky as “Lao Chai” and I follow that custom here.) Much of the thematic material of the symphony derives from Ukrainian folk songs. Historically, Ukraine was once nicknamed “Little Russia,” which gave rise to the symphony’s subtitle, Little Russian. Given the current global political climate, however, the San Francisco Symphony omitted this subtitle from the concert program.

Though far less frequently performed than Tchaikovsky’s later symphonies, this work sounded utterly fresh and revitalized under Elim Chan’s interpretation.

Amid the orchestra’s powerful tutti passages, the principal horn introduced the richly folk-inspired opening theme with touching warmth and sincerity. The melody passed among instruments, evolving and expanding. Chan’s conducting illuminated the complex symphonic textures with extraordinary clarity and transparency. Every phrase, every rise and fall in musical momentum, seemed entirely within her grasp. Her movements were economical, yet whenever great force was needed, she never hesitated to unleash it. The orchestra responded to her gestures with remarkable sensitivity.

This extraordinary rapport transformed the entire orchestra into a vast instrument under the control of a single musician, dramatically expanding the range of dynamics and opening immense expressive possibilities for the music’s emotional power and tension.

The fourth movement—the symphony’s most familiar and exhilarating movement—was electrifying. Under Chan’s dynamic leadership, the San Francisco Symphony filled the hall with an atmosphere of almost breathless excitement. Driven by her whirlwind-like gestures, the music surged toward a blazing climax.

As thunderous applause erupted and the audience rose in a standing ovation, Elim Chan returned to the stage multiple times to take her bows. Seeing her again as she walked onto the stage reminded me once more that the commanding musical force who had dominated the podium moments before was, in fact, such a remarkably young Asian woman.

Phil Young (Yang Zhihua)
Written at home in the San Francisco Bay Area, January 2023”

“When Classical Meets Contemporary”

As we all know, Esa-Pekka Salonen, the Music Director of the San Francisco Symphony, is not only a great conductor but also a very talented composer. Many have been looking forward to hearing the cello concerto he composed for Yo-Yo Ma, and it was finally realized for me at the orchestra’s concert on the 18th of this month. Led by Salonen himself, the concert featured his concerto, Debussy’s “La Mer,” and opened with Beethoven’s “Pastoral Symphony.” The concert I attended on Friday was the first performance; although it wasn’t the weekend, it was a sold-out concert.

Beethoven’s “Pastoral Symphony” is among the most beloved music in classical repertoire, the most accessible in the symphonic world. I still remember the magical feeling I had as a child when I first listened to this symphony with my music-loving brother while lying in front of the radio, tuning in on shortwave, the only way we could access the western music at the time. Since then, this symphony has remained a staple in my heart, and it always feels as fresh and warm as it did on that first listen. Beethoven loved the countryside and nature; he enjoyed walking along rural paths, and the inspiration for this symphony stemmed from his love for the natural world. Unlike the traditional four-movement structure of classical symphonies, this work has five movements, with the last three seamlessly integrated. It is also one of Beethoven’s few programmatic works, with each movement titled: 1) Awakening of cheerful feelings on arrival in the countryside, 2) Scene by the brook, 3) Merry gathering of country folk, 4) Thunder, Storm, 5) Shepherd’s song. Cheerful and thankful feelings after the storm. Beethoven specifically noted in the score that the work depicts more an expression of feeling rather than painting. Before the concert began, the seating arrangement of the orchestra on stage reflected a typical classical setup, resembling a medium-sized ensemble with double woodwinds. Everything was ready, and when Salonen’s baton came down, the familiar and melodious strains immediately transported us to the rural paths where Beethoven was taking a walk. The melody of the first movement is a classic example of Beethoven’s motivic development, with a seemingly innocent and joyful phrase that unfolds into a naturally flowing elaboration. This phrase weaves through the music, bouncing and singing, with harmonies that are so pure that even minor chords might disrupt the heartfelt intoxication with nature. I could almost smell the flowers, hear the birds singing, and feel the gentle breeze. The second movement features the undulating waves of lower string instruments imitating the babbling brook, while the violins play a fragmented and ethereal melody, and the shimmering tremolos played by the first violins in the higher register evoke the ripples of the stream. Salonen’s delicate handling of the melodic lines enlivened the singing quality of the music. The movement quietly concludes with the calls of the nightingale (flute), quail (oboe), and cuckoo (two clarinets). (Beethoven even noted the names of these birds in the score). The third movement begins with an atmosphere of impending rain but quickly transports us to a joyful gathering in the countryside. In the central section, the sweet and lively melody of the oboe dances with the simple cheering by bassoon, and we can picture a beautiful rural maiden dancing alongside an elderly gentleman with slightly clumsy steps. This movement connects directly into the next, “Storm.” This is perhaps the most “depictive” music I’ve heard from Beethoven, unmistakably conveying the rolling thunder, howling winds, and we can even feel the raindrops hitting our faces. through the music. As the storm fades away with the music, the sunlight breaks through the clouds and bathes the earth, leading us into the fifth movement, where a long breath phrase brings us into the prairie after the storm, and the shepherd’s song of gratitude echoes across the land, concluding the symphony in a soothing and tranquil atmosphere. The only thing to disrupt this peace was the audience’s prolonged and enthusiastic applause, and the conductor took multiple bows to end the first half of the concert.

Salonen’s cello concerto was another highlight of the concert, featuring the newly appointed principal cellist of the San Francisco Symphony, Rainer Eudeikis. This talented young American cellist delivers outstanding performances and has collaborated with many top American orchestras. The piece lasts 30 minutes and is divided into three movements, but it has no titles, only marked as I, II and III. The orchestra is of medium size, but the large percussion section almost filled the back of the ensemble, incorporating not just traditional percussion instruments but also African drums. Interestingly, Salonen also employed a surround sound effect and looping system. The first movement, as explained by the composer, represents “Chaos to line”, where the metaphorical chaos arises from vast spaces, almost like a consciousness derived from a cloud of dust. The music begins with the cello’s melodic line weaving through the orchestra’s hazy sound stream, resembling an object moving through space trajectory. The second movement utilizes the looping system, where the fragmented cello melody is fed back through the loop, creating complex dialogues in an increasingly complex texture, and echoes with the cello, producing a very effective result. In the third movement, a pair of Congo drums joins the orchestra alongside the cello, and the movement has a dance-like quality. The composer also attempts to create surprising percussive effects with the cello, presenting a technical challenge. Eudeikis’ performance was incredibly brilliant, producing sparks! Notably, during a particularly challenging passage, one of his strings suddenly broke. After standing up and whispering a few words to the conductor, the orchestra had to pause. His colleague, the principal cellist at the time, cleverly handed him a spare string, and Eudeikis, under the gaze of the audience, quickly replaced the string and tuned it before signaling the conductor to continue. This was my first time witnessing such an “adventure” at a live concert, and I was impressed by the cellist’s skilled, decisive professionalism and technical prowess. The music concluded with a triumphant and gigantic orchestra tutti. The audience’s enthusiastic response was palpable, as the soloist and conductor returned to the stage to bow countless times amidst the ongoing applause and cheers. This piece reaffirmed me that Salonen’s compositional talent can shine as brightly as his conducting prowess.

Debussy’s “La Mer” is one of his representative works and one of the most frequently performed programs in concerts. The full title is “La Mer, Three Symphonic Sketches.” Debussy is a leading composer of French Impressionism, known for his pursuit of unique instrumental colors and delicately intricate textures, along with his signature hazy atmosphere. In contrast to his typical style, this work’s orchestration is quite heavy, even profound. After its premiere in 1914, many contemporaries felt disappointed for the piece; the often sympathetic composer Puccini even remarked, “Debussy’s revolt against Debussyisme.” The piece is divided into three movements: Dawn Till Noon on the Sea, Play of the Waves, and Dialogue of Wind and Sea. Some have harshly criticized that this piece fails to convey the essence of the sea. However, since the true essence of music is not to simply imitate but to recreate transcendently, “La Mer” exists on this level, and it also holds its own value as absolute music. Even so, I can still perceive the sea through the music; the mysterious and unpredictable, ever-changing, beneath its calm surface, there is an unperceivable depth and myth.

The San Francisco Symphony’s interpretation further deepened my understanding of this magnificent work. Under Salonen’s baton, the orchestra’s sound waves surged and ebbed, mirroring the audience’s emotions that fluctuated with the waves of “La Mer,” at one moment, turbulent, and another, calm, just like the world we live in.

MTT, Yuja & LSO

I really enjoyed the two concerts by MTT, Yuja Wang and London Symphony the past two evenings. Yuja’s performance of Shostakovich piano concerto No.1 was truly phenomenal and breathtaking, both technically and musically, and the excitement among the audience filled every corner of Davies Hall. In the last movement, the rhythmic union between the soloists and the orchestra was as precise and clean as gear binding, at a tempo Shostakovich would have liked too. I was also impressed by the trumpet soloist (LSO’s principal), whose pianissimo was as silky and refined as rendered on an oboe. The most striking program came the second day with the performance of the Shostakovich’s Symphony No 5, which was definitely brought by MTT to a new height. The beautiful orchestral colors, the long breathing phrasing, the powerful tension created with the expanded dynamic and rhythmic contrasts, the mesmerizing slow passages played in such stifling quietness with tasty rubatos, that made me grow goose bumps. The finale brought the entire audience to its feet, not excluding me, who, in spite of a bad problem with the knees, had struggled up 4 times for the standing ovation. The best concerts in years!

Shanghai Quartet at Hammer Theater

Last night’s Shanghai Quartet concert at Hammer Theater was such an unforgettable and moving experience, a sold out concert sponsored by San Jose State University. This was the second time they perform in San Jose (last time in 2010 at Trianon theater).

The first half of the program includes Haydn String Quartet in D Major, Op.20, No.4; a California premier of Tan Dun’ s 2018 revised version of his String Quartet No.1, Feng, Ya, Song and after the intermission, the String Quartet No1 in E Minor by Smetana.

Their performance of Haydn was exquisite, the sound was beautiful and elegant, the ensemble work was seamless. The musical dialogue between the players was so lively and spontaneous, which vividly showcased the essence of this jewel genre created by the very composer who wrote this music. The second movement was especially touching, they played each variation with such delicate distinction in articulations, in one of which they played the whole section non-vibrato with perfect intonation and balance that made the harmony sound luminous. The last movement presto was full of fire and energy and they finished it with solid technic and dramatic contrast. Tan Dun’s Feng Ya Song has been my favorite of the composer’s since I heard it first time in the 80’s, and Shanghai Quartet’s performance of this revised version reinforced my sentiment, the best performance I have heard of this music too. The dramatic effect of the first movement was truly stunning, I admire the composer’s mastery in fusing the ancient folk elements into a modern technic. The Shanghai Quartet did such an impressive work presenting it, if I were the composer himself, I would have jumped up the stage and given each one of them a huge hug.

The String Quartet No.1 in E minor by Smetana after the intermission was not a familiar music for me, but I have read that while he was writing the quartet he encountered deafness and he wanted this music to emulates a biography of his life, and that it was premiered in 1878 in Prague with Antonin Dvorak as the violinist, and the most fascinating trivia to me, that close to the end of the last movement, the sustained harmonic E on the first violin represents the ringing in his ears that presaged Smetana’s deafness…… Again, the Shanghai Quartet’s performance of this music was fabulous, the opening viola solo by Honggang Li was expressive, I was especially delighted by the second movement’s Polka due to my early years accordion playing background, their playing made me want to dance with it, what a pleasant experience! The encore was Harvest Celebration, a transcription from a solo violin piece by the second violinist Yi-Wen Jiang who is also a composer, the audience reacted with a long lasting thundering applause.

I was so delighted to see my musician friends after the concert, the first violinist Weigang Li happens to be my old timer at SF Conservatory of Music in the 80s too. I have been a faithful follower ever since I attended their first Concert in San Jose in 2010, and this concert convinced me once more that Shanghai Quartet is a world class and one of the best music ensembles in the world. My best wishes to them and my salute to the four great musicians: the first violinist Weigang Li, the second violinist Yi-Wen Jiang, the violist Honggang LI and the cellist Nicholas Tzavaras!