Rubato

If I learned one thing on my trip to Japan with the Met, it is the importance of time. As an opera orchestra, the Met orchestra deals with the issue of time to a much greater degree than does a typical symphony orchestra. An instrumental soloist will already be quite flexible with time, and a singer, dealing with text as well as music, will take even more time. Thus the Met orchestra is always prepared to pull back or rush ahead at the whim of the soloist. As a veteran musician explained to me, "We don't even think about this kind of stuff." Clearly there's some ESP going on.

So what does the Met do when freed of their obligations to a singer? Why, take time! The symphonic repertoire on the Japan tour was Strauss's Don Juan and Til Eulenspiegel. Til is a piece with which I feel very familiar, as I've had a chance to perform it as both concertmaster and principal second. The Met, on the other hand, is not very familiar with Til, and it was very interesting for me to see them master it in about an hour. Most interesting to me was what Maestro Luisi didn't have to ask for, which is rubato. The maestro offered his input through the baton, of course. However, the end result felt guided, rather than led. In the introduction to Til, the orchestra chose to take a little more time than the maestro signaled (at least, that is how my literal eyes interpreted his gestures), and they did so with unity and conviction. I was sold. 

Rubato could have been my greatest enemy. The Met musicians were intimately familiar with La boheme, Don Carlo, and Lucia di Lammermoor, and thus no rehearsals for these operas were held on tour. I spent the first week on the edge of my seat for the entirety of each opera, not knowing when the pulse would speed up, slow down, or even come to a halt. Gradually, though, I began to feel the heartbeat of the music along with the rest of the orchestra. I recall clearly a moment in Don Carlo where an unwritten caesura took place--an abrupt stop in the music. I found myself frozen, without having consciously perceived the caesura. My heart began to hammer as I realized that I was standing at the edge of a cliff. One note too far, and my stray note would have rang throughout the hall. 

I breathed out as the music continued. I had passed.