Four Seasons Harp Quartet

Howard and Susan's daughter Jennifer is in town to do a concert at the Royal Conservatory of Music. Jennifer is Principal Harpist with the Montreal Symphony. We have attended her concerts before -- they are always wonderful. Tonight's program highlights Vivaldi's The Four Seasons. It is a well-known piece that all of us have heard countless times, but I have never heard it done in the form of a harp quartet. Naturally, I was curious.

The performance started with Mozart's Quartet in Bb, K.589, transcribed by Caroline Lizotte, one of the harpists performing with Jennifer. It is a typical Mozart piece, joyful, delicate, and a bit on the fluffy side. I particularly liked the second movement (Larghetto). Next, before the intermission, we heard a short and lovely piece from Lecuona's Spanish Suite.

Finally, it was Vivaldi's The Four Seasons. Everybody loves this violin concerto; I personally also have a special fondness for Baroque music because of its complexity. But if I close my eyes and think of The Four Seasons, I hear the sound of a violin, not a harp. Can the harp, a gentle instrument, convey the energy and vivacity of the music? Astonishingly, the answer is Yes. The range of the sound from the harp is incredible, going from forceful to whispery, perfect for this expressive piece of music. In an orchestra, the harp can be easily overwhelmed by other more powerful instruments; but here in an intimate setting, every small sound is heard clearly. The effect was simply beautiful, almost magical.

Black Dogs, by Ian McEwan

I brought four books with me to Europe, but managed to finish only two: Melissa Bank's The Wonder Spot and Ian McEwan's Black Dogs -- we had a busy trip that left little time for reading.

Black Dogs is not one of the more acclaimed works from this literary master of our time. Nor does it contain one of his extremely disturbing tales. Nevertheless, this being a McEwan novel, it left me unsettled in the end. One would be hard-pressed to find a central plot. Instead, we are presented with a series of loosely connected stories and a whole lot of philosophical musings on Communism, Fascism, the roles that parents and children play, ... It may sound boring, but it is not at all. In fact, it is terribly thought-provoking, perhaps too much so. McEwan's well-wrought prose is also a joy to behold. It has been a long time since a novel has left such an impression on me.