K. 488, Piano Concerto no. 23

Being a poor (a hideously relative term), busy (most often term of excuse) man, I have little opportunities to see any live orchestra performances. So, when a chance to see Mozart comes, I do what I can to see it: check my fun money account, make sure we have no plans, and hope my wife doesn’t need a break from the always-fighting boys. Thanks to the South Dakota Symphony Orchestra (and my wife), I received an opportunity.

South Dakota native Paul Tuntland Sanchez performed Mozart’s Piano Concerto no. 23 with the SDSO. Having the musical knowledge of a redneck at a French cheese convention, I couldn’t tell you if they clung to their keys, kept up cadence or twanged with proper timbre (don’t fully understand the connotation of that word). But, I thought it was marvelously fun to watch. Sanchez played in a manner that drew attention to the music, not himself. From conductor to concertoer to orchestra, everyone let the music take them on its mountainside trail ride.

Here's a link to SDSO and Paul Sanchez's FB page (Check them out)
https://www.facebook.com/SDSymphony?fref=nf
https://www.facebook.com/PaulTuntlandSanchez

So, on the music.

I remember when I was around 14. My mom was a hog unit manager, and I began working with her. One of the first jobs I was given was power-washing the farrowing crates. As a kid, I was like, ‘Whoa, I actually get to blast this things with this contraption that could supposedly cut off your toe if you have it at the right setting.’ I let it loose. Manure flew, some off it even hit the fans. For about the first half an hour, I was one of the Ghostbusters. After that, I was a soaked, miserable kid covered in pig crap. ‘I see why she wanted me to do this now.’ I did not open my mouth to speak to myself, for enough filth had already worked its way it.  

Almost anything seems exiting (or at least tolerable) when we first start it, but with certain duties as we become caked in filth, the appeal wears.  And, I have the tendency to look down at someone who actually has a job in his or her desired field but complains about it. ‘What’s wrong with you, do you know how many people would love to have your job?’ Although, I do the same. I get so excited about a venture, but lose zeal as time passes and/or I can’t spur the same passion in others.   

Mozart was such a man. Of course, his passion for music never wore. But, being forced to concentrate in one musical area made him miserable, maybe such a mentality spurred iconic works of many genres.  And, that is why he wanted out of Salzburg. They wanted violin concertos. He wanted to do operas and piano music. Then, he moved to Vienna where they had their own set of expectations. Above all, Mozart wanted to explore.  And exploration brought him to Figaro. If one dares to venture in the realm of the banned, he or she is bound to fight through flying feces in order to clean house. I could imagine that at some point in the Figaro process, Mozart needed a break—as well as some immediate income.  Thus, he began work on K. 488.

The first movement is the start of a journey. The strings and winds sing sweetly. Their voices suggest, ‘This isn’t what I had in mind, but hey, it could be fun. I could find peace doing this.’ The piano comes in with the same sentiment. All the while, sighing hints long for more, some gusts huff a bit louder than mere sighs. The second movement starts with piano. Many of the concertos I’ve explored—so far—seem to have the solo start in the third movement. Moods of despair moan. ‘Am I going to be stuck doing this for the rest of my life?’ Like Ruhe Sanft, plucking of the violin strings is evocative of tears. The music says, ‘Are my dreams destine to die?’ ‘I can’t do it. I won’t make it.’ And then… Bam. The moods are slapped by the third, like an impassioned muscle-clumped motivational speaker. ‘You know what you want. You know how to get it. Let’s go.’ There are still hints of doubt, and self-struggle, but it is music willing to press on. And, it presses on with hope.