Smoke on the water (Deep Purple)

Long time not write, but I cannot help to story you about yesterday. So, yesterday, I visited my niece and enjoyed a wonderful evening with my niece, my sister in law and my brother.

What this has to do with "Smoke on the water"?

Well, it is great playing with my niece or even watching her doing that. She sings, she dance and she is a very happy child most of the time. Guess what? When she heard "Smoke on the water" and not only that, she started to dance and she was quite involved.

Enjoy listening it too and, if you please, dance as well!

Beethoven, Piano Concerto No. 1

Even though listening to music in the comfort of one's private space has its advantages, going to concerts is great from at least two perspectives: enjoying good music and getting more involved into what is going on, through sympathy, as one cannot remain indifferent to the visual spectacle that makes one react mostly the same as the interprets.

Tension, relaxation, enjoyment, fun might be experienced and emphasized when you also have the view of the finger-tips' strikes on the piano keyboards, the well-shaped muscles of the cello or the violin players' arms, the jumps and the steps on the floor of the conductor.

By comparison, it is like watching a movie. For instance, while one watches a dramatical scene and hears certain sounds that goes along with it, such as drowning or being on the verge of drowning, as a spectator, one feels like not being able to breath as in the images, while the moments are stressed by the music.

The Fourth Sister (II)

The photos were taken from TNB's site

The Fourth Sister

One of my favorites actors at the moment is Marius Manole, an actor of great and rare talent from my point of view, an actor that shifts his physiognomy and mood naturally, with deep eyes, a touching voice transmitting a variety of emotions that allows him to interpret diverse roles.

Marius Manole along with Tania Popa, Mihai Calin, Mircea Albulescu and other actors, under the guidance of Alexandru Colpacci, succeeded to make Janusz Glowack's "The Fourth Sister" a play to remember and its subjects to be questioned.

This play has the advantage of approaching interesting subjects such as (but not only) social reality, political life, living in the past, living dangerously and unconscious till the point of risking others' life (dear ones or not, if for such persons there are strong feelings for family or friends more than for themselves), doing wrong and regretting when the effects are to be seen, dreaming to escape reality and, not the last, placing people and feelings above the material.

One reality of every day life was visible on this play: people talking but, actually, did not communicating. The dialog was, in fact, each one's monologue, rarely coming on the same "ground" as a subject and connection.

The good part of this play was the way it makes fun of such things. People should learn taking things easier and laugh more often of unsuccessful actions / bad events in their life. Obsessions and fixations leads to no good and tragedies. The music chosen (some fragments were Nirvana's songs), the succession of lines and light made some subjects to be more emphasized.

Well, if you are curious, just take your time to see the play at Romanian National Theater in Bucharest. I am sure you'll agree it worths it.

Fantastic Symphony by Berlioz (II)

(the photos were taken from Romanian National Opera site)

Fantastic Symphony by Berlioz

Episodes in the Life of an Artist (Fantastic Symphony) is Berlioz' work composed when he was only on his twenties.

The symphony was written to express all Berlioz contradictory feelings related to being in love. In order to express himself by music as his letters for the loved one failed him, Berlioz breaks the classical pattern of orchestra symphonic music of his time. His work is known as a fine example of programmatic music where passion, beauty, harmony alternate with tenebrous, consuming and uncertainty.

If you combine the music with dancing, you see a spectacle that delights your hearing, eyes and heart. This is what one can enjoy at Romanian National Opera in Bucharest and even more. The show has its sad part as well as its fun moments. The search, the loneliness, the fuss, the social spectacle as well the rigid forms of work are well placed on stage.

At first sight, it could have been better if the continuous line of music and dance were not fragmented by words. Still, unexpected moments, breaks (desired or not) the harmonic course of certain things that are present in every day life, therefore, such alternations of dance, words and music made a complex that reflects  reality in all its aspects - good and not that good.

As in real life experience everything is filtrated by one's subjective perception, what better metaphor can be used in order to reflect deformed reality than the "mirror" one? You can see what you want but it might be not what you notice!

Yet, you may, indeed, see Razvan Mazilu, Bianca Fota, Dan Puric (if you are lucky) and Romanian National Opera's ballet.

Cesaria Evora - Besame Mucho

Besame Mucho

Besame

Besame mucho

Como si fuera esta noche la ultima vez

Besame

Besame mucho

Que tengo miedo pederte, perderte otra vez

Quiero tenerte muy cerca

mirarme en tus ojos

verte junto a mi

Piensa que tal vez manana yo ya estare lejos

muy lejos de ti.

Besame

Besame mucho

Como si fuera esta noche la ultima vez

Besame

Besame mucho

Que tengo miedo pederte, perderte despues

Bruce Willis in "Surrogates"

Even thought "Surrogates" is not a brilliant movie, it has some strong points especially through the performance of Bruce Willis (more visible from both perspectives - surrogate and the human), make up and music.

The context: an utopia, an ideal world where people are living in the safety of their homes while surrogates are living their outdoor lives, no more dangers, no more threats. The outdoor world seems almost perfect, yet, the emotions are only showed and experience indoors. At some point something goes wrong - murders are committed against surrogates but has the effect of killing the operators (humans behind the machines).

The action: one human tries to solve the murders cases, discovers the plot behind it, fights it and change the course of history or, at list, make everyone ask themselves if a world with surrogates is a future choice or not. And, yes, people leave their homes or rooms where they lived so far. One of the human's wishes was to see his wife not her surrogate, understanding at some point that, that was not a life he was living. His wish come true at the end of the movie.

The best part of the movie was when the main character enters the outside world and faces the world as it become. There you can see Bruce Willis how disoriented he was getting in touch with a motion world and how different his character's figure is from all the others, showing some emotions. Even though the adaptation to this new reality is too fast (non realistic) it can be accepted considering it is a movie and the facts should occur to a faster level so that the audience not to lose interest.

The movie has its little humor even though hardly noticed. Agent FBI Greer (Bruce Willis) returns as a human at the place of work. A remark of one of his colleagues made me smile. I do not remember the exact line but the idea was Greer was looking bad (not in good shape as all his colleagues were used to).

Of course, as in every social or political aspect of every day life, there are the main movement (the surrogate world) and a small group of humans that oppose to the phenomenon. If this part was more emphasized or developed as a subject, the movie would have been more credible in spite of the commercial aspect.

Maybe with the advance of technology today it is not that hard to image a world like the one in "Surrogates". Yet, it was incredibly surprising that the robots were not thinking on their own. I guess, as an idea of a future robotized world, Asimov's "I, robot" make more sense but, on the other hand, it is more comforting knowing that the machines were not having a will of their own and they were controlled by the humans behind. Still, it links to the title very well if I think at the fact that a surrogate means something alike but not as qualitative as the one that replaces. One question haunts me even in this context: what if there were on the "hands" of an eaveler characters than the ones in this movie?

Well, I have to admit, as mentioned at the beginning, I loved the make up which was so great for all characters involved - surrogates and humans. You should see at list some photos from the movie. Too bad that on the official site of the movie I could not find more information on this or the music, except one video clip with Breaking Benjamin - 'I Will Not Bow' which you can see it below. Before letting you enjoy a piece of music / soundtrack I have to say I could not leave the cinema till all the cast and every details were over only to hear the music. I guess it was the part I enjoyed most.

Troy - Out There

"Pfitz" by Andrew Crumey

"Pfitz" is a mistake, a misunderstanding but, as all things are happening for a reason this leads to contradictions but also to learning the truth, finding out the real circumstances and facts and helps to clear things up.

Some paragraphs from the book are very suggestive from the point of view of things are not appearing as they seem to be.

"... It still haunts me the believe that everything is false in a certain sense, and every trying to understand and theorize the world and our condition within it is destined, even from the beginning, to be full of contradictions. ... I begin to suspect that the meaning is not a characteristic that can be reached through a process of reduction. It is something emergent, something that comes up in a manner impossible to be reduced to the sum of it's part. ..."

"... I know everything on this world constantly deceives me, with its subtleties, with its complexity that surpass the power of understanding and because, in reality, it is part of an uniform whole that is incapable of reduction and coverage. I know, as well, that the mind that works in this body is deceiving itself in the sense that creates images that are, if not false, anyway, hopeless deformations of a world that was not made yet to be inhabited of them. ..."

It is a book with overturning of circumstances and believes, a book with a few good ideas, a book that can be easily read on a break, on the way back home if you do not have time to read it on your spare time.

"The nightingale and the rose" by Oscar Wilde (II)

She  said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow."

"The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break."

"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers ¬¬ what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold."

"The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

"Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.
"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.
"For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."
But the Tree shook its head.
"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.
"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."
But the Tree shook its head.
"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.
"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."
But the Tree shook its head.
"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year."
"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?"
"There is away," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you."
"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."
"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."
"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?"

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

"Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense."

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

"Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone."

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove ¬¬ "that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good." And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river ¬¬ pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvelous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

"Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now"; but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name"; and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it tonight next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you."

But the girl frowned.

"I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."

"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has"; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

"What I a silly thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away. "It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

"The nightingale and the rose" by Oscar Wilde

With Marius Manole as the narrator, this story is performed at the National Theater in Bucharest.

It is not a classical play, I might say it is a recite of the one of Oscar Wiled's fairy tales for children. Though, no children in the audience.

It was in fact a spectacle of image, gestural dance, fairy tale decor and recite, everything minimized but sending a strong, emotional message. It was about love and sacrifices, obstacle, the barriers people put in the way of their happiness and the superficiality human nature posses in some contexts, as well, conditioning the future events.

Even though the light was not very well studied, the general impression was "it worthed seeing the play". The whispers, the feelings transmitted to the audience had a great impact on most of us. I think Marius Manole did it well this time too and if you have not seen him performing yet, try seeing this story and "The heart of a dog" after Mihail Bulgakov, also on National Theater in Bucharest.

Still more to come. :)

End of story

As all good things comes to an end, so it happened Saturday evening with George Enescu Festival.

For about a month it seems like living in another world, a better world  where nothing mattered but the euphorically state and the happiness (seemed a lot like a hypnotic state) that filled up my soul and seems to persist even after its end. I wonder for how long it will last and how taught it will be coming back to the every day reality.

Sill, I have to say I appreciate a lot one of the festival's sponsors (event hough I am aware of the fact that all of them were important and without them probably the festival would had been to a lower extent), a sponsor that made, in a way, a bit easier the ending of this event. Now I am talking about that sponsor that offered gifts at the end of the shows - CD and books.

Even from during the festival, I was curious to read one of the books received and this was for, sometimes, I was having a few moments for reading during the breaks. So, I have started to read "Pfitz" by Andrew Crumey. It was really interesting to discover a few ideas that might apply to history itself. This book can make one wonder about the reality and facts that are storied in historical books, biographies or else. It also make one ask about how much is hazard and how much one can influence the present, the future or even the past. Which purposes may excuse such influences or is it right or fare and is it, till the end, allowed by destiny all that to happen? But well, I am only at the beginning of the book and everything may turn around by the end. So, I am anxious to see what other ideas or contexts are brought to attention by the author.

And just because my attention has been drawn to something else, in a way related to the festival, might be a good thing and makes the festival's closure for this year to be easier. And, yes, when I think of all the others book I have to read for some time now, it makes me happy already and eager to finish Pfitz and start reading something of Tolstoi or Kafka. But about that and more, I will story you at the right time.

"George Enescu" Festival

It gets harder and harder to talk about this event that happens onces at two years. This is because, every evening happens more and more and the delight and enjoyment grows proportionaly every time. It is true I have attended only the Great Orchestras evenings so far, but, tomorrow, beside the usual, I intend to make it even to a special event: LUCIAN BAN & NEW YORK ENESCO PROJECT.

This week was fantastic and when I think there is one more day of it, I can hardly wait tomorrow to come. I particularly loved it because of the piano accent of some evenings but not only for that. When I think of so many talented musicians any of the people attended this huge event has seen and listened, I sometimes cannot believe how fortunate we are to have this festival here, in Bucharest.

I do not know what the Festival means for any of them but I guess they wouldn't have attended it unless they were found of Enescu's work as well. I am happy I have seen and listened not only great Romanian musicians (Dan Grigore - pianist; Horia Andeescu - conductor, Alexandru Tomescu - violin, Horia Mihail - piano, Razvan Suma - cello, etc.) but also others famous ones from all over the World (Helene Grimaud - piano, Joshua Bell - violin, Nigel Kennedy - violin, and so on).

But this is not what I wanted to tell you about. In fact, I wanted to story a bit about this evening which was really special. This evening was about "Oberon" (Weber), Symphony no. 100 (Haydn) and Symphony no. 8 (Dvorak).

I do not know if "Oberon" was ever linked to the Amber series (Zelazny) or vice versa but it suited the character "Oberon" there and to the basic idea of the stories - a mighty ruler and a World of our own, made by our pattern just for us and our family, and any external interference will unbalance it even to the point of destroying it. Even the conflicts between relatives might bring its extinction unless alternative solutions and working together one with another may help.

The idea of the pattern, its creation, the shifting of it imply a huge capacity to understand its most basic existence, the fragile harmony, the influence and interference, the emotions, the changing, the growing and even falling, and this was what ROYAL CONCERTGEBOW ORCHESTRA AMSTERDAM conducted by MARISS JANSONS has done the entire evening, starting with "Oberon". Needless to say no other evening so far at the Palace Grand Hall made the audience raise and all the performance has grown and grown and when I left, beside being happy of being part of it I have felt sorry for it ended so fast. There is still hope - tomorrow they are there again, I am sure, with more surprises as they have been very resourceful this evening.

Beside enjoying it, it is said in a way because with the passing days, we are approaching its ending and when I think that there is only one week more to go I start to feel sad already. For certain after it, there will be an empty space that will be filled only with the hope two years will pass fast enough to the next festival.

Joshua Bell

When I have heard Joshua Bell will come to George Enescu Festival, I said to myself, this will be an event that cannot be missed. Therefore, Saturday evening, I went to the concert very confident it will be a night to remember.

I was not wrong, considering the previous experience from two years ago when I have heard him interpreting live for the first time.

Probably it is due to several main factors that when Joshua Bell is there, the success of the event is obvious: a great, if not one of the most qualitative, Stradivarius violin, an immense talent and skill, a lot of sensitivity and a delicately approach of the interpretetion.

For Saturday evening, maybe the Spanish Symphony by Lalo added a plus to the entire evening and success - every sound of the violin seemed to float into the air, sending vibes and emotions not only dreams.

Here it is a fragment from Joshua Bell - "Symphonie espagnole,Op. 21 Rondo (Allegro)" - Lalo

You can try listening also Joshua Bell playing Ave Maria

Maybe a visit to his site will inspire you more, especially accessing the section "Listen"

Enjoy!

Nigel Kennedy, Charles Dutoit and Royal Philharmonic Orchestra London

It is hard to talk about what happened at George Enescu Festival, Friday evening, after so many were written on the press.

To tell you the truth, for such experiences I honestly do not believe words can actually describe the event.

It is useless to tell you how wonderful this evening was and how fast it passed because of the fascination of the sounds and interpretation of all pieces selected for the evening.

Enescu's Romanian Rhapsody opened the evening and Ludwig van Beethoven's Concerto for violin and orchestra made a great closure of the evening.

Should the concert kept on, I am sure all the audience would have been able to spend their entire night there.

I guess the secret was Nigel Kennedy after all, that added a little spices in the performing.

I really do not know what the truth is, but I hope someone to make me understand how a concert and a soloist, no matter of what instrument it is, is actually conducted: the conductor and the orchestra has to follow the soloist or the soloist has to follow the conductor and orchestra? I personally incline to believe it is the first one and, if so, Nigel Kennedy marked the day and added a fun note to the evening and the atmosphere was more relaxed than tense and serious.

As a plus add to the evening was the bis of Nigel Kennedy, as he interpreted an adapted song of Maria Tanase's. Searching the internet, I was even surprised to find this interpretation:

Tribute to Maria Tanase

I hope you will enjoy it as well.

"Geroge Enescu" Festival

Starting with 30 August 2009, for about a month, "Gerge Enescu" Festival is the most important event in Bucharest.

It's program includes "Opera and Ballet" series, "Romanian Music of the 20th Century" series, Midnight concerts, "Enescu and his contemporaries" series, "Chamber Music" series, "Great Orchestras" series and "Classical music in jazz arrangements" series.

As George Enescu Festival has already started, it was expected the night series for "Great Orchestras" to start as well.

Today, the first concert of the "Great Orchestras" series begined with Ludwing Van Beethoven.

MAXIM VENGEROV regarded as one of the world’s most dynamic artists, had conducted the "GEORGE ENESCU" PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA for this event. Seeing conductors, one can wonder where do some have that much energy from?

The program for the evening included Overture "Leonora III" op. 72a, Triple Concerto for piano, violin, cello and orchestra in C Major op. 56 and Symphony no. 5 in c minor op. 67 and, as expected it was a delight to hear them.

I cannot say I know music but I love the effect music have on me. Based on the sounds, armonies etc. one cand live different moods so suddenly shifted, not to mention where the waves of sound can lead one's imagination.

Still, the best part of the entire event was the participation of the Romanian Piano Trio - ALEXANDRU TOMESCU – violin, HORIA MIHAIL – piano, RAZVAN SUMA – cello. Their performance was like a sort of conversation, competing eachother, susteining eachother and debating one with another.

As I find music fascinating, sometimes I wonder if music can hypnotize as it seems hypnoze to lead you into another reality.

For anyone curious to hear a little bit of the Romanian Piano Trio, here it is a piece of it (not a quality one as sond and image though).

Romanian_Piano_Trio

Enjoy!

Protector

For those science fiction readers, here it is a link to a book's summery:

Protector

You may find even some answeres regarding our "ancestors", our evolution needs and many other interesting things.

After reading it, you may start the Ringworld series.

Enjoy.

Books, context and life

Recently, I have read a book that made me ask myself how much reality you can find in a story and how much fiction there is in there.

One can see a lot of events on the news, terrible ones, and by comparison, books sometimes seem innocent descriptions of unfortunate events. Yet, they have in common tragedies that, in my opinion, should never occur.

Some say we draw such events in our lives but I wonder in what degree or if it is true?

But coming back to the book, it is about a man that was deprived of his liberty. The fact he was physically captured and kept in a very restrictive area, is obviously not a question of drawing such event upon him. The way he lived his life is more related to the rescue attempt and its success. As he did not let any track of him and his voyage made him untraceable.

In such circumstances one wonders – Was it good? Was it wrong? What was wrong? Why? What’s the meaning of it? What can be done? Was it done by my hand?

The book is more a reflection and manifestation of will of the captive man. Here it is a bit of his thought:

“Yes … Not to have been that letter …. As even dreams have the gift sometimes to show you the truth in their way, once he reached here, it had no point fooling himself. He had enough of excuses. All left behind was dead. He did them by his hand.

As for his present vacation, he had adopted an extremely secretive attitude and, in purpose, came there without confessing any colleague the destination of the trip. And it was not all about the silence, but the fact he did his best to make things in misery, consciously. … “

From another perspective, the story is about people who just because they want to control destinies choose for others and constrain them to follow their will, even if there was a reason behind it. When it comes to something like that, there rise always the question - are purposes excusing the means?

Takashi Sakai

For those wondering about the picture, here it is Meditation III, by Takashi Sakai.

What I love about it, beside colors, is that it gives you a great feeling watching it.

Why?

Well, it is the effect pink has on me while pereiving it.

The 8th March

For any woman in Romania March is a special month. For me is a very special one.

I know in some different parts of the World there are certain traditions that are quite different and even here the stories related to this precise date varies. Now, on 1st of March we celebrate the symbol of the coming of spring.

8th of March is the International Day of Women, so, one more reason to celebrate.

On 9th of March it appears to be the day of the man. Some would say that those that have not a surname symbolizing a saint’s name are celebrating their “name” day. Guess what? I am not having a saint name. :)

Well, then is my birthday and my mothers as well, not to mention there are also some other birthdays too.

But this is not what I really wanted to story you about. So, here it is.

Today, I have celebrated my birthday with my family. I don’t know how, my mother told me something about a gift. Not that when I invite people to celebrate with me an event I expect gifts, but when I hear about planning, I become very curious. Yet she told me it would be something I have said I like a lot at some point. This was all it took me to hear to search my memory. I started wondering what it would be.

At some point it occurred to me that it might be a tree I have said I like a week or so before. I ranged my mother on the phone to ask her about it and she said not to think at the tree that it is not such a thing. Now she knew what it was even if she previously she told my quite the opposite, but even if I asked again she said no word.

Today I thought at another possible gift. Now, between us, I like lots of things. :)

With a few weeks before I have also said I like some pieces of Klimt’s work. I was about to rush calling my mother again but I have said to myself, hmmm they cannot possible think at Klimt. Even if it would not be a genuine thing, it would be too nice to hang something alike on one of my walls. A second thought was not to ask again in order not to make all of them feel uncomfortable about their choice. Maybe they have had something else in their minds.

When the gift was brought (I personally had not noticed when they brought it in) I started to laugh as it was a panel. Well it was not Klimt but I loved it anyway.

It had a nice story behind. They indeed wanted to offer me what I had imagined. Yet, they could not find the one they knew I like: the cat.

I started to smile as I knew they were confused. A few weeks ago while talking about this artist I have mentioned that Klimt had a cat. I am very found of cats so, they thought to give me that particular picture. Well, a picture with Klimt and his cat would have been as well great. I would not have minded.

I have to say their gift was great and I enjoyed it a lot and, as I have said before, I loved their gift as well. Here it is a detail of it in case you wonder about it.

Can you guess what it is?

Happy Birthday!

Finally, I am 1 (one) year old. Guess what happened?

My relatives made me a party.

First, they fed me well so that to be in shape to run around. And I did and one of my guests was following me all the time. I am not yet let alone but be aware when that time comes!

So, let’s start with the begining. I do a lot of sports and anytime I have the chance, I fetch balls, wires and so on. And so I did at the party.

I preferred the world globe to a simple ball. I knew if I were smashing it on the floor, all parts of it would go apart. I was not wrong. My dad and my aunt had a hard time putting the pieces together again. Yet, it was fun for all of us.

Then, I have seen the phone on the couch. It was so colorful and so tempting.

Hmm, that grandfather of mine was trying to explain me how the phone works. Had he not noticed I already knew that? 

As all things are once interesting, I moved to the next attraction of the basket and I fetched it.

I still wonder what it is. Then my grandfather entertained me.

I went to sleep a little and, while I was sleeping, my guests prepared me a mask show.

I did not understand why they felt the desire to become giraffe or else. One thing was certain: Master Yoda was supervising everything.

But, why giving just details, the main atraction of the evening was my cake.

I hope everyone enjoyed it.

PIKA

I have never thought Pika will fit his birthday gift received last year.

I was about to give that gift away, for charity, as nor Pika or Pufa were using it.

Pika proved me wrong and this morning, there he was. :)