Berks Sinfonietta: Soloists Around

I cannot help but stare— the exposed metallic length of each cylinder, sleek with majesty, capstoned by the cubic girth of their sylvian sentried towers, captivates my attention.

"I love the pipe organ, how it protrudes from between the wall and the ceiling like that...", I muse to my friend as I adjust into a more comfortable and warm posture — quietly humming with delight as I find the sweet spot on the pew. For the second time this solar cycle, I sit in a space of Judeo-Christian worship, congregated around the Berks Sinfonietta. Today, a variety of soloists will be featured in this afternoon's program, the virtuosos to perform are of instrumental variety, and they include: floutist Suzanne Francis, violist Ruth Gipps, bassoonist Joshua Schairer, and guest conductor Tyler Readinger — the concert appropriately titled "A Round of Soloists".

"Lines that exposed an adventurous dynamism..."

The bassoonist, Joshua Schaier opened the program with Mozart, a concerto specifically composed to highlight both the underappreciated depth and versatility of an instrument so often perceived as the foundation of an orchestration, rarely the highlight. Yet, Schairer invited the audience into a majestic offering, full of riveting lines that exposed an adventurous dynamism of unexpected vigor. The slender wooden mass fit into his grasp with such ease, as if it were an extension of his own physique.

His navigation of the allegro was like an ode to humor. The nimble dexterity within each line emitting a fluidity that would meet its climax at such a poignant hitch of space, Schairer couldn't help but take the opportunity to steal a knowing smile. Moving into the adante, the air of luscious majesty overtook the concert hall. The sinfonietta accomplished such a natural transition that the bassoon's rich depths into the chalumeau register seemed to float atop an airy pillowing nurtured through a delicate repetitive figure amongst the violas — the two parts turning in tandem, a melodious testament of majestic tonality. The piece met its completion with a resounding applause, and with a slight bow, Schairer departed from the limelight as un-abstrusely as he entered. chewed

Suzanne Francis took to the stage for her performance of Mozart's Flute Concerto No. 1 in G Major. It's not that I dislike the flute or Mozart for that matter, though the two combined more often than not seem to saturate my aural faculties with a brightness that can only be artificial in its fabrication. I considered this truth stifling a shared laugh with my friend, having attempted to switch my digital note-taking to graphite on paper, only to find the Ticonderoga stationed at my pew to be utterly chewed to bits. Our spirits were quiet, but higher than appropriately warranted for the moment, and I could almost sense Francis's pointed gaze stating, "I shall wait..." Then they were off, the orchestra erupted into a joyous proclamation, answered by the oboe as if to solidify the festive inevitability through its elated recollections. The flute entered as expected, dainty and diligent. Though I couldn't help but be entrapped in Francis's movement. Each gesturer seemed to signify something more than perfection, as if there was a mischievousness in the length of her every breath. Maybe it was my own musings upon hearing the cascading notes slicing through each crystalline chord — unfolding with a flawless cleavage that would make the party-happy Mozart blush. As a jazz-head myself, the darker side of chords, the ones that fracture with a delicious dissonance, particularly capture my ear. Nevertheless, in at its culminating finale, I found myself pleasantly captivated.

"As if bleeding onto the canvas.."

Viola is treated similarly to the bassoon in the sense that it is often relegated to the spatial corners of orchestra compositions. It's the voice that supports the beautiful, flowing melodies and counter melodies dominated by louder and more prominent timbers. Ruth Gibbs draws forth the darker tones of her instrument through Jane Grey, Fantasy for Viola and String Orchestra. A piece not precisely lamenting — though surely contemplative. The theme makes its way through gorgeous embellishments, as if bleeding onto the canvas of an expressionist. As the piece nears its ending, the thematic material enters a period of tension, the chords disagree, and tumult rises into a decisive stroke that seems to clatter across the worship space. The piano speaks, offering a compassionate answer. Only to be silenced by the final weep of her bow.

What happens next only seems natural. Gibbs speaks. And her words slice through the hall like the exquisite cut of a steeled blade. She recounts someone who once said that musicians get back from their playing the emotion that is within them. Gibbs recalls playing a song titled: Pater in manus tuas commendo spiritum muem (Into your hands, my father, I entrust my spirit). The last words spoken by Christ during his crucifixion. She shares that before, she found sadness in the piece. Recently, though, she found anger. "I dedicate this piece to Renée Good..." The encore ended with applause. I confess, I could not bring my hands to clap.

Taking his place at the podium, his hands raised with a purposeful calmness, Tyler stuck the air. The violins burst the air with a vibrating figure — a modern dance anatomy full of virotic anticipation that seemed to lift each melody with a distinct sense of hopefulness. Watching my friend, I recognized Tyler's utterly captivating movements as he visually embodied the dramatic landscape that unfolded. Amidst the striking of strings and vibrating of cane, a fresh future began to come forth. If what Gibbs got back was anger, then what Tyler manifested was vision — one so clear and direct that any harmony and rhythm has the sure-fire potential for beauty and creative inspiration. It is quite an undertaking for orchestral conductors to be visually expressive; one runs the risk of losing posture, of becoming lost amongst the sheer magnitude of sound and multitude of voices. But Tyler carried his expression with a deadly consistency. Each movement was precisely placed, no matter how fantastical, his mark exact. And as I watched, mesmerized, as he guided the sound of this sinfonietta towards its final rolling climax through David Diamond's: Rounds for String Orchestra, I considered how we, listeners and players alike, play a part in this prophetic pinnacle of human capacity.