More on Mahanthappa

Okay, so we’re a little late. At this point, if you don’t already have tickets, you’re not going to be able to see the Rudresh Mahanthappa Quartet’s concert in the Tapestry Room tonight, because we’re completely, utterly beyond sold out. But, if you’re the plan-ahead type and you do have those tickets already in hand, we thought you might enjoy a couple interviews with Rudresh that came out in the past week, in the Boston Globe and Boston Phoenix. A few quotes are probably in order:

He’s a self-described egghead, a numbers nut who could have become a mathematician or economist. He’s a science-fiction fan who loves William Gibson’s “Neuromancer” and is liable to zone out to sci-fi reruns on TV. But when Rudresh Mahanthappa takes the stage, it’s with an alto saxophone, not chalk and blackboard, that he burrows into theorems and explores alternate planes, in a musical language so vivid and complex that hard-bitten jazz arbiters have dared to compare him to Ornette Coleman or John Coltrane. (Read more from Globe writer Siddhartha Mitter.)

“If you look at what a lot of composers in the 20th century did — Bartók, Schoenberg, Webern — what I’m doing on Codebook is not particularly groundbreaking.” But Mahanthappa is drawn to his puzzle problems as a way of thinking outside the box at the same time that he delves into material that really interests him. And he’s drawn — like earlier modern composers — to creating his own self-contained systems. “Say you decide that the piece is always going to go minor third, half step, major third, in any direction. Some really amazing music can come out of that because each note carries more weight — whether to go up or down becomes much more serious than in another circumstance.” (Read more from Phoenix editor Jon Garelick.)

But don’t take our word for it. After the concert tonight, ask Rudresh your questions about his music yourself. He’ll be signing CD’s downstairs in the museum’s Spanish Cloister after the performance, starting at about 8:30. Whether or not you were able to track down one of those elusive concert tickets, you can catch a glimpse of Mahanthappa and his quartet there, and maybe even talk string theory over a cocktail or two. Free gallery talks, a funky new self-guided tour focused on cross-cultural exchange in the Gardner collection, and some awesome fusion food in the cafe will keep you busy enough until then.

Happy 1903!

Mrs. Gardner was well aware of the curiosity the building of her museum as well as its architect (herself) aroused in the citizens of Boston, and she collected news clippings that described reactions to both. Click on the scan at left to zoom in and read the original story of the museum’s opening celebration.

While a select few were offered the privilege of visiting the museum during its earliest days, its official opening was on New Year’s Eve, lasting into the first wee hours of 1903. Invitations were sent to 200 friends and acquaintances. Arrangements were made for members of the Boston Symphony Orchestra to play under the direction of conductor Wilhelm Gericke accompanied by nine singers from the local Cecilia Society. Mrs. Gardner received her guests in the Music Room (later rearranged to form the Tapestry Room) dressed head to toe in black. After the concert, mirrored doors were pushed aside to reveal the lush courtyard, lit from every balcony by round flame-colored lanterns. Just imagine the reaction of those first visitors as they stepped into the magical, never-before-seen, space – an escape from the wintry cold outside. One of her guests described his reaction nicely, in a letter of thanks:

“Has the music-room dissolved, this morning, in the sunshine? I felt, last night, as though I were in a Hans Anderson Fairy Tale, ready to go on a flying carpet at any moment…”

 

Kristin Parker enjoys flipping through old newspapers, and much more, here at the Gardner Museum as our archivist. Take a look at another archival document, a concert program for another of Isabella’s renowned soirees, in her post about Isabella’s “Manuscript Club,” here.

We hope to see you in the New Year, too. And a hint: admission is free on January 1st every year, a fitting homage to the museum’s opening over a century ago. Or celebrate at the first After Hours of ‘08, on January 17. We’ll see you next year!

 

A Musical Feast

Many people think of the Renaissance as a flowering in the visual arts, but in fact all of the arts went through vital changes during this period of European cultural rebirth. Even food changed during the Renaissance—surviving recipes from the period indicate a shift away from the boiled grains and blancmange of the Middle Ages to more refined wines (viticulture took a huge leap forward in the Renaissance), meats with complicated sauces, and even exotic New World imports such as potatoes. In short, it was the kind of European food that we’re used to in the 21^st century. Wealthy noble families such as the Medicis and Gonzagas in Italy, the Burgundian dynasty in France, and the Tudors in England, competed to hire the best cooks, along with the best painters, best sculptors, and of course…the best musicians.

Unlike painting or sculpture, cooking and music are ephemeral arts that have to be recreated for each occasion. In a world where we can listen to music on demand from a dozen different sources, we often don’t appreciate how special music could be in an era when live performance was the only way music was ever heard, and no performance could ever be captured or replayed. Music was often present at great feasts and celebrations, and no feast characterized this “seize the moment” idea better than the annual festival of Martinmas, celebrated in early November.

Hold your horses…

We’ll be here soon.

In the meantime, browse more images from the Gardner Museum collection here, or check out an online exhibition by Artist-in-Residence Danijel Zezelj (who designed the graphics for After Hours) here.

Above:
Saint George Slaying the Dragon, 1470
Carlo Crivelli, Italian (Venice), 1430-1495
Gold and tempera on wood, 94 x 47.8 cm
Purchased in 1897 from Colnaghi, London, through Berenson.