We live in a big house and have a baby grand piano.
In the 1990s, when a lot of musicians from the USSR came to Israel, we were part of a project begun by Geoff Greenfield, a physician and musician. He arranged concerts in people's homes, so the musicians could earn a little money while they were learning Hebrew and finding their way in their new country. After that we continued to host concerts now and then. We invite our friends and hope they'll fill our living room, so the musicians can go home with a decent amount of money.
About a year and a half ago Geoff arranged a recital for himself and a pianist (to whom all the proceeds went). At that recital he played a piece for solo flute by Emanuel Vahl, who attended the concert. After that Emanuel kept pressuring us to host a concert including other works of his, and we finally got around to it last week.
He got four fine musicians to prepare the recital and perform: Mina Dashevsky, a pianist; Michael Schwartzman, a violinist; Alexander Shochat, a violist; and Tehila Machado, a cellist. The first piece they performed was Mozart's first quartet for piano and strings, a sublime work of art. While listening to it, I was full of wonder: how could any human being have created such a splendid thing? The musicians played it wonderfully, with great communication among them and between them and the audience, who were much closer to them than is possible even in an intimate concert hall.
After the Mozart, they played the "Jewish Quartet" by Vahl. The audience liked that too, and they were very moved by his presence and the few words he spoke about the work. We were pleased that we were able to bring his music to the attention of a new audience.
After the intermission, they played the Brahms Quartet no 3, another monumental piece of chamber music. I told Emanuel after the concert that he was very brave, putting his work between Mozart and Brahms. It worked.
The Brahms has astonishing emotional depth, not that the music is less sublime than Mozart's, or that Mozart is emotionally shallow. As I listened, I was thinking that Brahms was not only aware of his deepest feelings, but he also was capable of working with them and expressing them in musical ideas.
Last night I attended a concert at the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance devoted to the work of an acquaintance of ours, Menachem Zur, an important contemporary composer. His music is much more cerebral than Vahl's, and extremely difficult to play. At the end of the concert he graciously thanked the musicians for their hard work in learning and performing the pieces. Some of them were young, and I hope they were paid for their efforts.
Menachem has gained a lot of local and international recognition. He was a professor at the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance. Emanuel is largely unknown. He came to Israel rather late in life (he's over eighty now), and he is frustrated by his anonymity. If you write music with the aim of reaching a large audience, maybe you shouldn't write contemporary classical music. Menachem doesn't mind it that his work isn't very accessible. He has very clear ideas of what he wants to do and does it. Emanuel's music is easier to listen to, and he wants to be heard. His ambition has not faded with age.
Both Emanuel and Menachem, who is in his mid seventies, continue to compose, and I hope I will continue to hear their music.
In the 1990s, when a lot of musicians from the USSR came to Israel, we were part of a project begun by Geoff Greenfield, a physician and musician. He arranged concerts in people's homes, so the musicians could earn a little money while they were learning Hebrew and finding their way in their new country. After that we continued to host concerts now and then. We invite our friends and hope they'll fill our living room, so the musicians can go home with a decent amount of money.
About a year and a half ago Geoff arranged a recital for himself and a pianist (to whom all the proceeds went). At that recital he played a piece for solo flute by Emanuel Vahl, who attended the concert. After that Emanuel kept pressuring us to host a concert including other works of his, and we finally got around to it last week.
He got four fine musicians to prepare the recital and perform: Mina Dashevsky, a pianist; Michael Schwartzman, a violinist; Alexander Shochat, a violist; and Tehila Machado, a cellist. The first piece they performed was Mozart's first quartet for piano and strings, a sublime work of art. While listening to it, I was full of wonder: how could any human being have created such a splendid thing? The musicians played it wonderfully, with great communication among them and between them and the audience, who were much closer to them than is possible even in an intimate concert hall.
After the Mozart, they played the "Jewish Quartet" by Vahl. The audience liked that too, and they were very moved by his presence and the few words he spoke about the work. We were pleased that we were able to bring his music to the attention of a new audience.
After the intermission, they played the Brahms Quartet no 3, another monumental piece of chamber music. I told Emanuel after the concert that he was very brave, putting his work between Mozart and Brahms. It worked.
The Brahms has astonishing emotional depth, not that the music is less sublime than Mozart's, or that Mozart is emotionally shallow. As I listened, I was thinking that Brahms was not only aware of his deepest feelings, but he also was capable of working with them and expressing them in musical ideas.
Last night I attended a concert at the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance devoted to the work of an acquaintance of ours, Menachem Zur, an important contemporary composer. His music is much more cerebral than Vahl's, and extremely difficult to play. At the end of the concert he graciously thanked the musicians for their hard work in learning and performing the pieces. Some of them were young, and I hope they were paid for their efforts.
Menachem has gained a lot of local and international recognition. He was a professor at the Jerusalem Academy of Music and Dance. Emanuel is largely unknown. He came to Israel rather late in life (he's over eighty now), and he is frustrated by his anonymity. If you write music with the aim of reaching a large audience, maybe you shouldn't write contemporary classical music. Menachem doesn't mind it that his work isn't very accessible. He has very clear ideas of what he wants to do and does it. Emanuel's music is easier to listen to, and he wants to be heard. His ambition has not faded with age.
Both Emanuel and Menachem, who is in his mid seventies, continue to compose, and I hope I will continue to hear their music.
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