Today is commonly called the “shortest day of the year”, or sometimes, “the longest night.” Even as I have drifted away from my Christian roots over the years, I have never lost the sense of wonder for the stillness of these darkest of days, where in the absence of the light of our nearby star, we get to gaze out on the vastness of the universe and to think, to dream, to wonder at what things beyond our comprehension might each planet, each twinkling light, and all that we cannot even see might hold. To me, a tiny speck on a tiny planet circling a smallish star, the improbability that I am even here to wonder always fills me with a kind of yearning joy that there is so much I do not know, and full of curiosity to learn and understand and be open to mystery. My existence in the form I have come to know is fleeting, and so, as years pass, it is ever more precious to me, and I am aware, too, of how fragile humanity is, how simple it is for the ties to bind us together to be severed if we do not seek to uphold them. 

My wish for humanity is simple: To never lose that sense of wonder and curiosity. To never stop asking “why?” and “how?” but also to take comfort in uncertainty, because absolute certainty is the path to pain. Be humble, but not ashamed. Know what you don’t know, not to be frightened by it, but to be inspired by it, and to be always aware that to not know something means that the joy of learning and growing lies in front of you.

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Because this has been an extraordinarily busy couple of months, there are a few things that normally I would have written about in some detail that I kept putting off, along with a couple of more recent happenings, so consider this the tying up of loose ends.

I. Montreal/Leningrad

The world has changed so much since I visited Columbus and heard Shostakovich’s ‘Leningrad’ Symphony in early 2019. That particular piece had opened up, in many ways, a new phase of my life, and returning to Columbus to hear it live had been particularly special in so many ways. But I haven’t been back to Columbus since my uncle’s death later that year, and increasingly, Columbus seems almost lost to me. As for the ‘Leningrad’, I was just two weeks out from hearing it live in Chicago with Gergiev conducting when the pandemic hit, and when concerts resumed again and it reappeared on the schedule, it was with Jurowski conducting–and then, in the wake of the invasion of Ukraine, suddenly a symphony that was being used by the Russian government as a propaganda piece became toxic. The CSO swapped in Shostakovich’s 8th (which I was more than happy to hear) and the 7th just vanished. Well, except for Orchestre Métropolitain in Montreal, the city’s “other” major orchestra–albeit one whose director since 2000 , Yannick Nézet-Séguin, has since gone on to assume positions leading both the Philadelphia Orchestra and the Metropolitan Opera orchestra. In putting the 7th onto this year’s schedule, Nézet-Séguin has been outspoken in insisting that the work MUST be performed because of the multiple layers of meaning Shostakovich embedded in the work, particularly his critique of tyranny.

This was a weekend trip for me, one that started off with a stop at my favourite bead store when I first arrived in the city, followed by a quick stop at a couple of stores in the Vieux-Port area, before I was off to my regular hotel in St.Jean-sur-Richlieu, a burger at La Belle et La Boeuf, and time to stop at a good spot to photograph the Farine Five Roses sign. 

I’d also reworked the embroidery I had done of the Time Magazine cover of Shostakovich in his fireman’s helmet that accompanied the American premiere of the ‘Leningrad’ to wear to the concert. The program as a whole was very interesting, starting off with the premiere a violin concerto by the early 20th century Norwegian composer (and colleague of Edvard Grieg) Johan Halvorson that was only recently rediscovered after more than 100 years in Toronto. This part was being filmed by a crew making a movie about the woman for whom the concerto was written, with the soloist Maria Duenas, who will play the part of that woman in the film. As a result, my first row balcony seat was directly next to some of the film crew. The piece itself was quite virtuostic and interesting, and beautifully played by Duenas. But I was definitely there for the ‘Leningrad’. This was my first time seeing Nézet-Séguin conduct, and he is fascinating to watch–a rather small, but hugely expressive presence on the podium. His tempo for the first movement was fast, very much in the tradition of Kondrashin, with dramatic dynamic contrasts. When I realized how fast the Invasion Theme was unfolding, it made me shiver–because the climax promised to be utterly shattering. And it was. But the highlight of that movement for me was the part right after, where the piano and the low strings, pianissimo, spit out stuttering chords as the bassoon wanders through the aftermath of cataclysm. I’ve said before that the role of the piano in those couple of Shostakovich’s later symphonies that use it, is merely as a supporting character, as opposed to his Symphony no. 1, where it gets a virtuostic solo; I’ve posited that Shostakovich had written himself into the symphony. I realized just then that the piano has a role in the early bars of the invasion theme, and then goes absent until the aftermath, where it seems to stutter and stop, as in disbelief. Whether that’s a hidden meaning or not, I couldn’t not remember that Shostakovich was present in the early days of the Siege of Leningrad, but was evacuated and left in the dark as to what was befalling the city in the darkest days of the siege, even as some of his family were still trapped there. If you look at the piano as representing him in this symphony, it’s significant, I think, that it plays its biggest role in that first movement, and thereafter is confined, other than an outburst with the entire orchestra in the second movement, to fragmentary chords.

That aside, Nézet-Séguin’s fast tempos continued into the second movement, slowing only for the lush third (where I saw more than ever the parallels with the third movement of the 5th symphony). Both of those movements featured nostalgic reveries interrupted by violent episodes. And in the final movement, Nézet-Séguin turned things around and slowed things down in the final section–very much reminiscent to the “our business is rejoicing” approach to the 5th symphony, but equally well applying to the “just hanging on” feeling that was certainly present in the Leningrad premiere on August 9, 1942. This time, the extended brass did not stand up, and I did not cry, but instead a thrill, a shiver went down my spine–not just at the music–but at the reality. The standing ovation told me others, perhaps, had felt it, too.

This was a different ‘Leningrad’ than my first, much more innocent one. My world has changed. Perhaps, I am hearing that invasion theme playing in real life.

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2. The Carlu

The old Eaton’s store at the corner of College and Yonge is one of Toronto’s Art Deco/Art Moderne treasures, and the jewel in the crown is the event space on the 7th floor known as the Carlu. Designed by (and named for) a noted French architect, the space included an auditorium, a restaurant, other meeting spaces, and a wide central hall apparently inspired by similar halls in ocean liners. Originally, the College Park store was to be part of a massive project spanning the entire block between College and Gerrard and from Yonge to Bay, to be topped by a massive tower reminiscent of the Empire State Building–but because of the Great Depression, these plans never came to fruition. When the Eaton’s store was closed in the 1970s, the stories above the former store were converted to office space, and the 7th floor was to share that fate as well, until the space’s designation under the Ontario Heritage Act saved it from demolition. But it sat abandoned and sealed for 27 years until its restoration from 2001-2003. I’d always wanted to see the space, as it is now a privately-managed event venue. I finally got my chance last week when my company hosted its holiday party there. While I didn’t get to see the famed Round Room with its Lalique fountain, I did get to see the auditorium and the large hall space (and can absolutely confirm it resembles the large rooms on liners of the age such as the Queen Mary).

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3. An afternoon with Mr. Handel

The orchestra tunes and the choir files in. All goes quiet and the orchestra begins to play. Various figures arrive to tidy the place up, under the supervision of a man wearing a chain of office It isn’t until the choir begins to sing that I recognize the strains of “Zadok the Priest”, sending a shiver up my spine and not a little mist to my eyes…

Thus began this year’s Tafelmusik Sing-Along-Messiah, the first since 2019, and in this Coronation year, it was only fitting that the arrival of Mr. Handel be presaged by that particular piece of music. He also had an escort of men from one of the local Scottish Regiments.

Every year, Mr. Handel’s entrance is a little different, but once he gets into his basic patter, things rarely change. There was no mention made of those lost years. Just those immortal words, “In here, life is beautiful.” And it was. Even though I opted to still wear a mask (you can even see me in the crowd scene below, the only of the photos I did not take), it was lovely to feel the energy of the crowd again.

And what soloists! Soprano Rachel Redmond had a sweet, understated voice. Countertenor Cameron Shahbazi, taking the alto part, had one of the most lovely, strong, male alto voices I’ve ever heard–somehow rich and vibrant even in the high passages. Tenor James Reese cut a fine figure in “Ev’ry Valley”. But it was bass-baritone Enrico Lagasca that stole the show with the absolute power of his voice and his expressiveness. In many years of attending, I’d never heard any bass-baritone who could beat Brett Polegato in “The Trumpet Shall Sound”–but Lagasca might just have done it. While the outstanding acoustics of Koerner Hall certainly had something to do with it, his was a voice that could fill an arena.

It was amazing to be back.

The hectic pace is finally starting to slow. The crafty Advent calendar I contributed to only has three unopened packages underneath the tree where I have hung all the ornaments from it. I have some holiday gatherings to attend in the next few days, including Christmas dinner with dear friends, but a full week off for work will give me a chance to pursue a couple of projects, do a bit of housecleaning, and basically take a breather. Work will be busy again in January, but at least the social and travel calendar will take a bit of a pause while the cycle of the year starts once again.