Rhapsody in Dark Ocular Blue

I first observed the seating—The Church of the Apostles located on the outskirts of Lancaster, PA—was arranged in a semicircle. As a Quaker Attendee—a term attributed to those who participate in Quaker worship but who hold a non-member status—I felt nevertheless spiritually drawn to the space. In Quakerism, the concept of commonality is held in veneration. Tracing back to a line attributed to Quakerism's founder, George Fox: "There is that of God in all of us...", defining the spiritual egalitarianism that Quakers hold to be sacred. This Quaker concept seemed to cross religious barriers—finding residence within the very architecture of this particular worship space. I gaze across the expense of the hall, meeting the returned visage of the saints inlayed in stained glass, standing sentry from their perimeter posts lined along the exterior wall—their prismatic aurora dousing the central space with a keledoscopic light. I can not think of a more appropriate space to experience the work of one of the modern world's most profound composers, George Gershwin.

"I frequently hear music in the very heart of the noise..."

Gershwin is a composer who speaks to the heart of the American experience and captures its unique melting pot nature. Inspired by modernist artists and thinkers, his music attempts to synthesize the aspects of the present to expand into an imaginary future. His compositions capture the cacophony of sounds that orchestrate America's urban soundscape and infuse such a dissidence with freshly imagined harmony. Acoustically painting scenes in which the listener finds themselves in a quiet back alley or amidst an expanse of rolling hills, the horizon might even be etched with a looming mountain range. In an interview, he is quoted as having said, "I frequently hear music in the very heart of the noise...".

When Reading's own, Lars Potteiger, took to the sleek Steinway for his performance of the feature Rhapsody in Blue, he spoke about the modernism found in Gershwin's compositions. He shared a profound mentation—that Gershwin's music could be experienced as an episode of the present versus a classic rerun. The delicate intent of fingers dance across the keys— a humble offering becoming visceral truth, enough to silent even the onerous of patrons. Looking around the audience, it seemed as if those in attendance were spirited away—Lars’s conversation with the sinfonietta being like a dynamic terpsichore that expanded temporal and locational perioding alike. Each chordal strike seemed to plunge the orchestra spiraling into acoustical depth, framing the shifting timber with the profundity of a composed liturgy.

echoing the familiar rhythmic folk styling of gypsy

The climax came at the piece's final cadenza, where Lars began the solo authentic to Gershwin's classical styling. But as the theme developed, Lars parted with classical structure, echoing the familiar rhythmic folk styling of gypsy. Suddenly, from within the pomp and circumstance of classical drama, emerged a familiar tune. The whisper of "Dark Eyes" began to speak from the flourish of Lars's keystrokes, as if the klezmer harmonies offered a poetic commentary to the Christian sanctuary. After all, Gershwin himself was Jewish. And it was in that moment, amongst the darkened chords of a wondering people, that I knew his music still speaks to the world today. Seeking to connect between what is, and what we imagine to come.