I’ve been running into problems with having too high of expectations for events, so I was trying really hard to not get too excited about the Nigel Kennedy (my favorite violinist) concert–especially after the hassle I had to go through to get the tickets (let’s just say they were supposedly sold out before I knew they were even on sale and when I frantically tried to get a ticket, I was turned away for not having a Spanish credit card–the only means of paying). Plus, the ticket was quite expensive and for nearly a fraction of the price I have seen some excellent concerts abroad, so I was feeling a bit of buyer’s remorse. But–thank goodness–I was not let down.  I usually go to a concert for the acoustics, so I come with a book or blank paper to write because the live atmosphere is so stimulating. It might seem weird or even offensive to the players, but I can say that my old viola teacher (who plays for the Detroit Symphony Orchestra) told me that musicians consider it a complement when people fall asleep at their concerts–so I can’t be that bad. Though I was armed with my Spanish textbook, it stayed tucked away in my bag because tonight there was something to see.

The hall itself was interestingly designed with these pop-out risers on the stage and 360-seating. I took advantage of the unique opportunity and sat by the organ in one of the sections on the backwall behind the orchestra. Though it meant I got the back of his head for much of the time, I did get a good view of the orchestra’s open, strappy backs (including a giant shoulder/back tattoo of a second violinist) that in all its unconservative-ness would only be acceptable in Madrid.

Part of the reason I like Kennedy so much is for his unique interpretations of classical music, which tends to be a bit paradoxical because there is supposed to be a “right” and “wrong” in classical music, one way that everyone strives to perform and record. He ignores this tradition completely and makes the music his own creation, leaving his mark with every note. He added accents and swells, put in exuberant vibrato, cut notes off a hair early, and sprinkled little hesitations all around.

It’s the same black notes and scribbles everyone else plays but he does his decorations and techniques slightly–but not too subtly–differently so you know it was stylistically intentional. (At this concert, though, I am pretty sure there were times when he improvised in his own harmonies and may even have wrote ahead of time extra cadenza accompaniment for the orchestra. I swear that was not in the recordings. Can he be playing the same music?)

But how can someone who doesn’t play this canonized way in such a strict field be so revered, you ask? It’s all in the personality, that’s how.

For him, music is fun. When the melody was in the next bar, he might stop for a half-second and put on this mischievous little boy face–the one you wear when you should be getting in trouble for something but know you are going to get away with it–before proceeding. If you are familiar with the song, you will hear the notes going in your head, but the orchestra is silent as if the record player slipped and you are left naked with your mental shower-singing voice. But even if you didn’t know the piece, you would know that something was up and to listen well because music doesn’t just come to a screeching, semi-four truck halt like that. As I see it, he is essentially making classical music more accessible and for today’s people (especially youngin’s like myself who may be turned off to the stuff, though there were hardly any of us in the audience).

It makes sense with all his play in his musical interpretations that he would have a similar personality and it shines through in his gestures. After each piece he shook his fist in the air and rooted for the audience as if we had done all the work. When he played, he gestured and cued with such intimacy it was as if he was with a 100-member quartet. Even without seeing a rehearsal, you could tell that he was like a mentor to the orchestra instead of a dictator. He joked with them (and the audience) so everyone was with high anticipation of what will happen next and he gave lots of enthusiastic thumbs-up. When he walked off the stage while we were applauding, he reached over to unsuspecting orchestra members he passed by to give them knuckle-knocking high fives and would wait until they embarrassingly complied. After the timpanist played his solo opening notes of the second piece, Nigel made a fist and hit his chest to show that the timpanist had just captured his heart. There was something about the principal cellist, too, as he kissed her hand a few times and gave his bouquet to her, too.

He did everything he wasn’t supposed to do. Since it was a concerto concert, he wasn’t supposed to conduct the orchestra at the same time, but he schooched around the would-have-been podium area motioning to the sections and managed to play the first violin parts when he would otherwise have been resting. He wasn’t supposed to wear what looked like black silk PJs and combat boots (one pant leg tucked in) with spiked hair, reminiscent of the punk rock 20-something that he certainly is not. There was no microphone setup on stage because he wasn’t supposed to say anything, but he spoke loudly and slowly to the Spanish audience in his British-English, telling jokes about mind reading (”I bet I can pick three people in the audience and tell you all whether they washed their hair today.”–one was bald). He was supposed to play 2 pieces–not 5–but acknowledged to us before a note was played he knew our tickets were expensive so he didn’t want to “cheat” us.

It was outside the programmed pieces that the “real” music came, though. Conducted like a Jam Session complete with the yelling out of numbers and wandering around the audience and entire stage, he played the gypsy piece Czardas and “the only song written by the famous composer James Marshall Hendrix–it was for the better” Purple Haze for encore pieces. Keeping in line with his humor, he played a romantic little duet with the harpsichordist, had a duel with the concert master while both were playing nearly-screeching high harmonic notes, and sneaked up on a day-dreaming first violinist to dedicate a few juicy notes to her as she jumped in her chair. Though the clarinetist didn’t speak English and had rests for nearly the entire piece, Kennedy asked him while his hands were up to start the song if he was “going to play–there’s some music on your stand there, right?” The poor guy, realizing he was on the spotlight, gave a confused look and rustled around his music while Kennedy grinned and started the piece. To finish off the show, while still shaking their bows on the last chord the entire orchestra just stood up and started walking off stage–cellos included.

With this jolly, cute-old man personality he is enchanting and 100% contagious. So much so that I would want to start drinking just so I could go out and have a drink with him. He made a performance out of the night that was beyond my artificially suppressed expectations. I really don’t know who else would get away with such silly behavior in the un-silly world of classical music.

If you are interested, my favorite CD of his is Classic Kennedy. Unfortunately, I do not think he tours much in the US or else I would highly recommend seeing him. So much for paying tribute to the country that gave him his Juilliard training.