in britannia

Tonight was the 10th anniversary celebration of the Seiji Ozawa Concert Hall at Tanglewood. When it opened, Ozawa Hall was hailed as a marvel of modern acoustics. It won, in 1995, the Honor Award in Architecture and, in 2000, the Honor Award in Interior Architecture, both from the American Institute of Architects, a feat rarely seen. It was the cover story for Architecture Magazine in December of 1994, and was ranked by Leon Beranek as 13th best hall in the world and one of the four best halls of all time in the United States. This is, to be sure, an impressive building. Built to remind the viewer of a modest New England barn, it reminds one more of an airplane hanger, simple in its shoebox shape and barrel vault ceiling. The Boston Globe’s own architecture critic, Robert Campbell, wrote with significant understatement that “the overall impression is of a building that looks both durable and purposeful, commanding its site without looking in any way grand.” The grandeur missing from Ozawa Hall is exemplified in the baroque curlicues of La Scala in Milan, the velvet boxes of Buenos Aires’ Theatro Colon, and even the gilded interior of Boston’s own Symphony Hall. This is an austere space; its elegance is drawn in the contrasts between ruddy brick and yellow cedar, lead-coated copper and burnished teak, accented by red sandstone imported from India. I have admired this building since its opening, and I was very pleased to have had the pleasure of performing in this grand space not once but three times.

I remember the real joy of being on its stage: I have been in the Tanglewood Festival Chorus for eight years now. That first year we sang motets by Samuel Barber and Johannes Brahams. A few years later, I was invited to join the chorus for Aaron Copland’s In The Beginning, a work which has stuck with me since. It was the piece I had the pleasure of performing tonight as part of this 10th anniversary celebration. The Copland is indeed a beautiful piece which narrates the Biblical creation story through interplay between unaccompanied chorus and mezzo-soprano soloist. I have two recordings of it: the first by Leonard Bernstein, the second is a recording of that first concert, conducted by John Oliver. The Bernstein recording is methodical, powerful, and measured. Its strength is drawn from the order of God’s creation and the care taken in constructing Eden’s paradise. John Oliver takes a different approach, and both the recording and tonight’s performance showcased the vibrancy, joy, and excitement of creation: the great whoosh of the seas, the wildly sprouting grasses of the field, and “every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth” can be found in Oliver’s interpretation, which is much faster but also more exciting than the Bernstein. The mezzo-soprano soloist, Stephanie Blythe, is in possession of an incredibly powerful yet nuanced voice; she has recorded only one compact disc, but I expect to be hearing much more from her.

As for the rest of the concert; I was seated outside and the weather was uncooperative. The lightning we could see from the stage grew to full blown storm during Wagner’s Siegfried Idyll, but the real stars of tonight’s concert had the extraordinary ability to make one forget the rain altogether. The first was “Ceremonial: An Autumn Ode” by Japanese composer Toru Takemitsu, written for sho and orchestra. The sho is the Japanese version of the sheng, an ancient Chinese instrument which can only be described as the very top two octaves of a classical pipe organ, condensed down into a hand-held and orally-powered form (google them!). This is a transcendent work with delicate chords and an incredible over-arching structure that allows for contemplation and meditation. Second was Leonard Bernstein’s Opening Prayer conducted by John Williams. Originally written for the re-opening of Carnegie Hall in 1986, it was played ten years ago at the Ozawa Hall inaugural concert: it has a religious gravitas reminiscent of Bernstein’s own Chichester Psalms. The Chinese pianist Yundi Li played two works by Chopin and Liszt: not nearly as famous as his fellow countryman Lang Lang, Li is said to be a more polished musician while Lang is the most outgoing performer. I found Li’s playing, live miked as it was, to have a delicacy not found in Lang’s performance last year: it was astonishing and truly fantastic to hear a solo pianist with such command, nuance, and clarity of direction and articulation.

To change the subject, last night was our family’s last family dinner for a while: Andrew is off to medical school tomorrow (we’re driving down to New Jersey to help him move in) and I’ll be in England in about two months time. Matt is headed into his senior year of high school, and college is beckoning. We spent it at one of our favorite restaurants in the Berkshires: Elizabeth’s Borderland Café.

Despite its cheesy name and truly bizarre location (Pittsfield, Massachusetts next to an old car-repair place and across from the crumbling GE Plastics plant), Elizabeth’s is truly a jewel. Tom, the proprietor and head chef, is a charming fellow with something of a gruff, no-nonsense friendliness about him. Coming in for dinner? “Great to hear from you!” Asking about the specials? “I’m glad you asked!” No reservation? “I can’t help you: goodnight.” The appetizers are phenomenal: the escargot were creamy and tender while the herb and butter sauce was delicious. It took all that we had to tear ourselves away from it. Tom makes a delicious chicken-liver pate, which is laced with what looked like dried currants: its sweet simplicity is best enjoyed with some of Tom’s freshly baked whole-wheat bread. Finally, an herb sauté of wild mushrooms was delicate and light, though sadly under-salted. The real magic of Elizabeth’s is in their daily specials. Woe to him that passes these specials by: past greats have included a sweet corn chowder, and roast wild boar with a marjoram and red-wine sauce. In addition, their cacciatore dish, the only entrée on the menu that prominently features meat, is a daily adventure as well: one particularly memorable cacciatore was a veal hock braised in a tomato ragu served over a huge plate of pasta.

Dad got what he always gets: bagna coada served over linguini: it’s anchovies cooked in butter and olive oil with cheese, capers, and plenty of garlic and shallot. It’s fantastic, but salty as anything. It used to be an entrée but it now lives on the appetizers side of the menu as a hot dip for bread. Tom makes a concession to my father to serve it over pasta every time we go. Mom had one of the specials: a Mexican chicken stew: braised chicken thigh off the bone in a stock-based stew (lighter, not so much starch), flavored with three beans and chipotle peppers. It was amazingly complex, with the chipotle imparting a smokiness that matched well with the chicken. Andrew ordered the cacciatore, a slightly less successful creamy Bolognese sauce over shells. It was cloyingly sweet and the meat (90% sirloin, some chicken and sweet sausage too) lacked depth of flavor. Matt ordered another special: steel-head trout with cauliflower and green beans cooked in parchment. The trout was perfectly succulent while the cauliflower and green beans offered a delicious accompanying note. However, I would like to declare myself the winner: the third special was an old-style red sauce with sweet Italian sausage and heaps of fresh basil served over polenta. Not being a huge fan of polenta (reminder of grits, another culinary disaster, in my humble opinion), I was able to have the sauce served over penne. It was nothing but the essentials: the sweetness of the tomato accented by garlic and hits of basil accompanied by a light sprinkling of parmesan cheese. By the way, all dinners are served with Tom’s house salad: a massive affair including whatever Tom can find to throw in: it has included in the past arugula, peaches, apples, feta, cheddar, celery, broccoli, fresh peas, walnuts, pecans, and chickpeas. It’s delicious, but Tom will come down hard if you don’t finish: he has actually been known to berate those who pass on the salad or take too little.

Back in New Jersey tomorrow: this might be my last time at Tanglewood this year. I’m going to miss this a lot…