The Prague Post Online: Tempo: Riding with Dvořák

July 7th, 2008

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Riding with Dvořák

The Czech Philharmonic barnstorms America

April 2nd, 2008 issue

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The Czech Philharmonic spent three weeks on the road during February and March, logging thousands of miles on a coast-to-coast tour of the United States. It was a wonderful opportunity for U.S. audiences to hear Czech music played by the country’s finest musicians — and for the musicians to see America. To get their impressions, as well as an inside view of what life on the road is like for a classical orchestra, The Prague Post asked viola player Jiří Poslední to keep a diary of the trip. Here is his report.

Feb. 20

The orchestra is traveling in two groups on this trip, and I am with the smaller one, on a direct flight to Atlanta. A corpulent lady sitting next to me turns out to be an American born in Bulgaria. We find a lot to talk about during the nine-hour flight, despite my poor English.

At the Atlanta airport, we fill our time with a burnt hamburger and coffee. Then we are rushed onto another plane, where we are welcomed by a stewardess in a huge hat singing a country-music song. The whole crew is jolly. But the security checks to get on the plane are all very unpleasant. I am glad to make it through.

After a five-hour flight to San Francisco in economy class — a nightmare for people with long legs — we are bused to Davis, a university town where I share a room with my colleague, cellist Jakub Dvořák. The room is cozy, designed for a married couple. We can now test three weeks of mutual tolerance!

After a day off to “acclimatize,” we play our first concert. Davis is quite strange to us Europeans, as it has no center. But we find omnipresent good cheer in shops, restaurants and on the streets. The hall is half-empty for the concert, but it has nice acoustics and the response is good.

Feb. 23

Three beautiful coaches come from San Francisco to take us to Anaheim. Woe, the seating inside is made for Lilliputians! But the ride is nice, and the driver goes quickly through the dry landscape. There are almond trees in blossom everywhere on one side of the road and, on the other, endless sand. We pass the snow-decked Sierra Nevada Mountains, getting stopped by the police for speeding after a long downhill descent.

By the time we get to Anaheim, it’s dark. Most people go directly to bed. Because of the air-conditioning, respiratory diseases are spreading. One of our colleagues has taken ill with mononucleosis (he should not have drunk wine). Another 20 people still have not received their luggage.

The next day, we continue our journey to San Diego, where the hotel is surrounded by a beautiful park, filled with topiary and palm trees. Flowering geraniums are breaking through the hedge rows. There are birds everywhere: ravens, sparrows with different-colored heads and a bevy of green parrots. Now and then, they are disturbed by a bird of prey.

The concert is at a local theater that is sold-out, despite the TV broadcast of the Oscars, which are being awarded not far away. We play an all-Dvořák program, and the audience applauds enthusiastically.

Feb. 25

The ride to Santa Ana is pleasant, with a nice blue sea and mountainsides spangled with colored flowers, pink and yellow prevailing. The architecture is uninteresting — most of the houses are built from fiberboard, and the shopping centers are nothing less than repulsive. Nevertheless, the food in the stores is of a better quality than in the Czech Republic — everything is clean and fresh! Also, at a Chinese restaurant, they serve more generous portions than at restaurants in Prague, many of which seem to operate with the philosophy “to get rich fast.”

The concert is at Segerstrom Hall in Costa Mesa, which turns out to be a pleasant surprise, an architecturally interesting place with amazing acoustics. The hall is full, with many young people in attendance. We play Martinů’s Symphony No.1 and Mahler’s Symphony No. 5. Even though not everything goes exactly as we would like, the evening is an extraordinary success, with a fan club of local orchestra members breathing down our necks during the entire performance. Not many concert halls will be written as deeply in our memories as this one; it would be a great pleasure to play chamber music here.

The next day is a free day. After breakfast, most people go to the swimming pool or the shopping center. Many return with happy faces and full shopping bags. Still, I can’t imagine living here in the summer, when they say temperatures reach 50 degrees Celsius [122 Fahrenheit].

I pull a rascally trick: I take a picture of piles of well-arranged potatoes and onions with Jakub in front of them. A salesman asks me not to do it again. Everything is different here — both the politeness and the potatoes.

Feb. 28

We are on the road again after an unexceptional concert at the McCallum Theater in Palm Desert, a rather ugly hall with poor acoustics. We got a standing ovation, but a very short one, which is why no encore was appropriate. However, we leave with a nice impression, induced by the gorgeous views. The city is an oasis of green, surrounded by a desert ringed with mountains. For me, it’s a unique moment.

In the evening, we play at the Arlington Theater in Santa Barbara, where the interior is shaped like a Mexican village green, and the ceiling is painted like a dark-blue sky illuminated by the moon and stars. The acoustics are good but the facilities are small. We have to change in a tent in front of the theater, but the organizers prepare excellent refreshments that do us all good.

We play the same program as in Costa Mesa, and this time the Mahler is much better. The audience applauds for a long time.

The next morning, we set off on the 780-kilometer [485-mile] journey to Arizona. The trip is long, but we take it surprisingly well because there is a lot to see along the way. We go through some extremely dry mountains, where the cactuses are up to 5 meters [16 feet] tall. But there are also places where the desert flowers nicely. During the first stop, we take a picture of a little brown hummingbird.

Our concert the next night is at the Mesa Arts Center, where the hall has excellent acoustics and a friendly audience. We do a good job, and for a long time after the end of Dvořák’s New World Symphony people in the audience are shouting “Děkujeme!” We are told that our concert in Costa Mesa got good reviews, but we still feel uneasy about the scherzo problem in the Mahler symphony.

Our last concert out West is the next afternoon in Tucson, a city of 1 million inhabitants that is surprisingly green, with a diversified mix of people. I see Indians with flat noses on the streets. There are ornamental gardens everywhere, and lots of cactuses and palm trees. All the houses are low, and most have swimming pools.

We just make it for the 2 p.m. starting time at Centennial Hall, which is on a university campus. The hall is large with good acoustics, and many people come to hear the concert. We play the all-Dvořák program, much favored in the United States. The reaction is again stupendous. Our performance was also good; we are pleased with it.

March 3

At 5:30 a.m. we are rushed onto buses and taken to the Tucson airport, where we board a flight for Atlanta, shifting our watches two hours ahead. There we connect with a flight to Albany. It’s a long day.

The next day is free, but the weather is dismal, pouring rain. The maids don’t make up our room, and by now we are fed up to the teeth with the food: everything is either too sweet or rubbery. We long for Czech bread and butter. The coffee — with the exception of Starbucks — is sickening. Moreover, it is sold either in plastic or polystyrene everywhere.

On Thursday, the sky brightens, giving me a chance to go out and throw a Frisbee with Jakub, who is celebrating his 40th birthday. The exercise is good for our legs. And we’re very happy about last night’s concert in Troy. The hall, in an English-style building built in 1875, was small but cozy, reminding us of Czech theaters. On the ceiling, the names of Chopin, Bach and Haydn are engraved around an elegant chandelier. Our all-Dvořák program sounded beautiful there.

We’re taken by bus to Hartford, riding through nice, undulating countryside with melting snow in mixed forests that remind us of Brdy. The concert that evening is in Storrs Hall at the University of Connecticut, where we’ve played before. A nice crowd turns out. I don’t know how big the town is, but, if the Czech Philharmonic were playing in, say, Kladno, not that many people would come.

We’re told that the organizers in Troy were so impressed with our playing the previous night they want to book us right away for our next tour. When they learn that Mahler’s No. 5 is in our repertoire, they want that. If they knew all the things our orchestra can play, they would want even more!

March 7

I realized something today. The transfers, and our way of life generally on the road — the concerts, the nerves, the stress — are very poorly tolerated by men. How much more difficult must it be on the women? They should be entitled to a certain level of comfort, but the men’s behavior is almost shameless, starting with our clannishness and ending with not helping the women with their luggage. There are more and more women in our orchestra, so we should get used to it.

As we ride to Newark, the landscape changes. There are more factories and storage places, though also a number of nice little churches. And, next to the ugly reservoirs (more like bogs), there is a bevy of Canadian geese feeding on grass. Beautiful geese!

When we get into the suburbs of New York, paneláky start to appear. Traffic gets heavier, with lots of yellow buses taking kids to and from schools. We can see Manhattan far away, across a cemetery and terrible districts. Really, New Jersey is not my cup of tea. Only 15 more miles to Newark, but I find myself overcome with a sense of horror.

Though the concert hall in Newark is close to the hotel, we are taken there by bus. The diversified jumble of people in the area does not make a friendly impression. The program is Dvořák’s Carnival, Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 5 and Dvořák’s New World Symphony. I don’t play in the Beethoven piece, which gives me a chance to go into the hall and watch the soloist, Simone Dinnerstein, perform. I find myself fascinated by the beautiful sound of both the piano and orchestra, and proud that the audience is so enthused. When we play Dvořák’s Slavonic Dance No. 15 for an encore, the audience goes wild.

I have no idea where those people came from — you won’t see them on the street. Nevertheless, I can say that we haven’t had such a nice and sincere audience on the entire tour.

March 8

Another day of pouring rain. By now, most of us have our luggage stuffed with presents and are counting the days until we go home. A couple of swans fly alongside our coach for a while.

When we get to Westbury, there is a dense fog that hides the tall buildings. The concert hall in Greenvale is equally disappointing, with tasteless décor and a reverberation that is much too short. Nevertheless, the audience likes our performance and the applause is thunderous.

The next day is cold but clear, so we can see Manhattan and the dominating Empire State Building. It reminds me of the pride Americans have in various things, even though their history is not that old. I like their car license plates with mottoes such as “New York – The Empire State,” and “New Jersey – The Garden State.”

The concluding concert of the tour is at Purchase College, not far outside New York City. The atmosphere is relaxed, and everyone feels the nearness of home.

In 20 days, we logged 2,500 miles on our bottoms by coach alone. But I have no complaints; personally, this was my best U.S. tour ever, with many good and positive moments. My only regret is that there were no great centers on our schedule, such as New York, Chicago, San Francisco and Los Angeles, where we used to perform regularly.

At Kennedy Airport, we board a Czech Airlines flight that will take us directly to Prague. As I take my seat, I find myself next to a lady again — but this time, a slim and very pretty one, like an angel sent to make my return trip pleasant.

Bye-bye, USA. We shall see you again, perhaps in five years.

For now, I am looking forward very much to getting home.

— Translation by Igor Janovský

Jiří Poslední can be reached at features@praguepost.com

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