February 28, 2008
Classical hallucinations
I’m not sure if it was the alligators pirouetting while doing an overhead lift with a hippo or a drunken Bacchus riding a pygmy uni-donkey, but when I first saw Disney’s Fantasia, it enthralled me as a child and is one of my favorite films to this day. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the hours I have spent watching the film and it certainly fostered my enjoyment of classical music. As crazy as this may seem, one of the vestigial side effects of repeated exposure to Fantasia has been my spontaneous visualizations while listening to classical.
My most recent imagining came on Monday, when I experienced Carnegie Hall for the first time. The Chicago Symphony Orchestra opened the evening with Matthias Pintscher’s Osiris which, like the few other modern classical works I’ve heard, produces suspense and fear. The piece began, and in my mind I saw a crate sitting in a dark, empty space bathed in a spotlight. After only a few minutes, I was drawn closer to the crate, but not of my own free will, rather more out of compulsion. The soft tension of the sounds told me something was wrong; something just didn’t feel right, but no matter how much I wanted to turn away the crate was inescapable.
Along with the progression of the piece, details slowly developed. I saw that it sat on the stage of an enormous Victorian theater and only then did I realize that the crate was actually gigantic and that I was originally viewing it from a great distance and lacking any visual references. The size was beyond intimidating. The orchestra became more violent and I was close enough to notice that the crate was in fact shaking. What started as gentle nudges grew into a tremor.
At this point I was close enough to see that what I had thought was a solid, well-built crate was actually more of a makeshift, wooden box. As I came nearer, the gaps between the planks grew larger to where I could actually see into the darkness that was inside. Initially, I only saw the white of a blood-shot eye staring at me and the ivory of bared teeth. I could tell that the climax was drawing near; upon looking through the cracks, I made out the shape of a monstrous ape convulsing ferociously. The box was now quaking.
The climax came suddenly, and with it the box splintered into shards of wood. All that remained was the ape and his rage. The theater trembled as dust fell from the rafters and the old structure creaked and moaned. His vengeance was furious and destructive. Piece by piece he reduced the theater to rubble to reveal a surrounding jungle. Then just as quickly as the climax came, the music died away and his frenzy was over. He slipped quietly into the bush and vanished from sight.
Now, I must confess that I know very little about classical music, and nothing about modern classical. The piece was inspired by the Osiris myth, and I’m sure someone well-versed in both Egyptian mythology and modern classical music could give you more insight as to the merits of the work. Unfortunately, I can only leave you with two conclusions: sometimes I let my imagination get the better of me, and the music was frightening. If anything, it probably means I should cut back on the Hitchcock.
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