Admittedly, my exposure to a particular piece of classical music — or opera — is in direct correlation to Looney Tunes cartoons. A Viking helmet clad Elmer Fudd bringing the noise of Wagner's "The Ride of the Valkyries” or "The Rabbit of Seville” anyone? Then there is the succinctly titled "Anvil Chorus,” a homage to old school cartoon violence written by Verdi more than a 100 years ago.
In an effort to broaden my horizons beyond adolescent humor — musically and otherwise — I received two tickets to a string orchestra concert as a birthday gift. I guess my wife was sick of buying black tube socks and screwdriver sets.
While this "present” sounds like the gender reversal of beer-of-the-month club membership for Christmas, I truly appreciated the tickets for the Turtle Island String Quartet. I had witnessed this talented group firsthand during a performance at Adrian College in the early 90s. I have no idea how I came to be in the audience that night — perhaps extra credit to bolster a sagging grade in Music Appreciation class.
I do recall being duly impressed when the violinists plugged in, then sufficiently blown away by their turn of a Jimmi Hendrix tune. Although I was a little disappointed that no one set their Stradivarius on fire.
Thankfully the Turtle quartet still rocked in a string kind of way; although more John Coltrane than Purple Haze this time around. I also appreciated the musicianship of the group's backing band — all hundred or so of them. The Interlochen Arts Academy Orchestra proves that starting cello lessons at 18 months old might be too late for first chair. The deft touch displayed by these young hands is a sight to behold and hear.
The students also performed an epic opus to Sinbad and the sea by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov that brought to mind Ray Harryhausen stop-motion sea serpents rising from the Mediterranean Ocean — and I mean that in a good way.
Oddly, what I also found intriguing was watching the measures of rest.
It must take tremendous self-control to sit silent for 150 measures before playing the first "ting” of the triangle. If it were me, I'd rock out with my bad self, clanging that thing like I had a case of Blue Oyster Cult cowbell fever. As for the cymbal player, there is no such thing as a subtle timing mistake. The instrument might be made of bronze but you better have nerves of steel.
My appreciation of the musical inclination of others stems partly from the fact that I lack a half note of talent — even my air guitar is out of tune. I did play the trombone — putting the last three letters in brass — up until junior high school. My musical repertoire peaked at the "Laurel and Hardy” theme song and the sound of a WWI aerial dogfight.
Honestly, I only took up the slide trombone for one reason and two words: spit valve. My passion for the instrument waned, however, when I realized my music locker could hold both a trombone and a peach fuzz lip seventh grader.
While that particular experience left a bad taste in my mouth — such is the case with slide oil — I can still appreciate the gift of music; even if I'm unsure which utensil is in play.
Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com