Valerie Sly: Timothée Who? An Overly Earnest Reaction to the Arts' Public Enemy Number One
Excerpt:
Earlier this year, the ASO performed Andrea Reinkemeyer’s Water Sings Fire, a work inspired by the origin story of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Reinkemeyer’s aim was to capture female rage elicited by injustice and oppression. When we performed it, her point struck me viscerally, and I could feel the audience’s understanding; it crackled through the hall. It also reminded me of another composer whose music I have always felt captures rage with exceptional power: Dmitri Shostakovich. Shostakovich’s injustice was very different; his boogieman was Stalin, and he lived under the constant, life-threatening scrutiny of the Soviet regime.
These two composers lived in vastly different times and led profoundly different lives, and their approaches to composition could not be more distinct. Yet their reflections on oppression are made all the more powerful by the presence of the other. They stare at one another through a two-way mirror, reflecting experiences separated by centuries but resonating in the shared emotions their music evokes. By experiencing both works, we, the audience, can chart a path between experiences we have known and those we have only imagined. They remind us that injustice is injustice, no matter the form, and that our capacity for empathy may reach farther than we often realize.
Valerie Sly: Timothée Who? An Overly Earnest Reaction to the Arts' Public Enemy Number One
Excerpt:
Earlier this year, the ASO performed Andrea Reinkemeyer’s Water Sings Fire, a work inspired by the origin story of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Reinkemeyer’s aim was to capture female rage elicited by injustice and oppression. When we performed it, her point struck me viscerally, and I could feel the audience’s understanding; it crackled through the hall. It also reminded me of another composer whose music I have always felt captures rage with exceptional power: Dmitri Shostakovich. Shostakovich’s injustice was very different; his boogieman was Stalin, and he lived under the constant, life-threatening scrutiny of the Soviet regime.
These two composers lived in vastly different times and led profoundly different lives, and their approaches to composition could not be more distinct. Yet their reflections on oppression are made all the more powerful by the presence of the other. They stare at one another through a two-way mirror, reflecting experiences separated by centuries but resonating in the shared emotions their music evokes. By experiencing both works, we, the audience, can chart a path between experiences we have known and those we have only imagined. They remind us that injustice is injustice, no matter the form, and that our capacity for empathy may reach farther than we often realize.
Valerie Sly: Timothée Who? An Overly Earnest Reaction to the Arts' Public Enemy Number One
Excerpt:
Earlier this year, the ASO performed Andrea Reinkemeyer’s Water Sings Fire, a work inspired by the origin story of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Reinkemeyer’s aim was to capture female rage elicited by injustice and oppression. When we performed it, her point struck me viscerally, and I could feel the audience’s understanding; it crackled through the hall. It also reminded me of another composer whose music I have always felt captures rage with exceptional power: Dmitri Shostakovich. Shostakovich’s injustice was very different; his boogieman was Stalin, and he lived under the constant, life-threatening scrutiny of the Soviet regime.
These two composers lived in vastly different times and led profoundly different lives, and their approaches to composition could not be more distinct. Yet their reflections on oppression are made all the more powerful by the presence of the other. They stare at one another through a two-way mirror, reflecting experiences separated by centuries but resonating in the shared emotions their music evokes. By experiencing both works, we, the audience, can chart a path between experiences we have known and those we have only imagined. They remind us that injustice is injustice, no matter the form, and that our capacity for empathy may reach farther than we often realize.
Valerie Sly: Timothée Who? An Overly Earnest Reaction to the Arts' Public Enemy Number One
Excerpt:
Earlier this year, the ASO performed Andrea Reinkemeyer’s Water Sings Fire, a work inspired by the origin story of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Reinkemeyer’s aim was to capture female rage elicited by injustice and oppression. When we performed it, her point struck me viscerally, and I could feel the audience’s understanding; it crackled through the hall. It also reminded me of another composer whose music I have always felt captures rage with exceptional power: Dmitri Shostakovich. Shostakovich’s injustice was very different; his boogieman was Stalin, and he lived under the constant, life-threatening scrutiny of the Soviet regime.
These two composers lived in vastly different times and led profoundly different lives, and their approaches to composition could not be more distinct. Yet their reflections on oppression are made all the more powerful by the presence of the other. They stare at one another through a two-way mirror, reflecting experiences separated by centuries but resonating in the shared emotions their music evokes. By experiencing both works, we, the audience, can chart a path between experiences we have known and those we have only imagined. They remind us that injustice is injustice, no matter the form, and that our capacity for empathy may reach farther than we often realize.
Valerie Sly: Timothée Who? An Overly Earnest Reaction to the Arts' Public Enemy Number One
Excerpt:
Earlier this year, the ASO performed Andrea Reinkemeyer’s Water Sings Fire, a work inspired by the origin story of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Reinkemeyer’s aim was to capture female rage elicited by injustice and oppression. When we performed it, her point struck me viscerally, and I could feel the audience’s understanding; it crackled through the hall. It also reminded me of another composer whose music I have always felt captures rage with exceptional power: Dmitri Shostakovich. Shostakovich’s injustice was very different; his boogieman was Stalin, and he lived under the constant, life-threatening scrutiny of the Soviet regime.
These two composers lived in vastly different times and led profoundly different lives, and their approaches to composition could not be more distinct. Yet their reflections on oppression are made all the more powerful by the presence of the other. They stare at one another through a two-way mirror, reflecting experiences separated by centuries but resonating in the shared emotions their music evokes. By experiencing both works, we, the audience, can chart a path between experiences we have known and those we have only imagined. They remind us that injustice is injustice, no matter the form, and that our capacity for empathy may reach farther than we often realize.
Valerie Sly: Timothée Who? An Overly Earnest Reaction to the Arts' Public Enemy Number One
Excerpt:
Earlier this year, the ASO performed Andrea Reinkemeyer’s Water Sings Fire, a work inspired by the origin story of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Reinkemeyer’s aim was to capture female rage elicited by injustice and oppression. When we performed it, her point struck me viscerally, and I could feel the audience’s understanding; it crackled through the hall. It also reminded me of another composer whose music I have always felt captures rage with exceptional power: Dmitri Shostakovich. Shostakovich’s injustice was very different; his boogieman was Stalin, and he lived under the constant, life-threatening scrutiny of the Soviet regime.
These two composers lived in vastly different times and led profoundly different lives, and their approaches to composition could not be more distinct. Yet their reflections on oppression are made all the more powerful by the presence of the other. They stare at one another through a two-way mirror, reflecting experiences separated by centuries but resonating in the shared emotions their music evokes. By experiencing both works, we, the audience, can chart a path between experiences we have known and those we have only imagined. They remind us that injustice is injustice, no matter the form, and that our capacity for empathy may reach farther than we often realize.
