Amsterdam II
My experience playing in the first violin section of the Amsterdam Philharmonic was exciting. We had the opportunity to perform under some terrific European conductors and with some inspirational soloists as well. We lived very close to the Concertgebouw (concert building) where we performed and could attend concerts of the internationally acclaimed Concertgebouw Orchestra as well. The Amsterdam Philharmonisch Orkest was the brainchild of Jan Huckriede who wanted to have an orchestra to accompany him as he performed piano. It started as Het Kunstmaand Orkest (Artist-of-the-month) and grew to a full time organization through cultural support from the city of Amsterdam and ticket income. We often played to full-house audiences. Two or three times a month we’d take a bus to a nearby town and perform as well. Although I never heard Mr. Huckriede play, I got the impression from some of my longer tenured colleagues that he was a better administrator than performer. To that, I owe him thanks for providing me with a year of income.
We experienced many special musical moments during that year (1972-73). We heard the famous Russian violinist David Oistrach playing Prokofiev’s First Violin concerto with the Concertgebouw Orchestra. This was subsequently made more special, as he died in Amsterdam just over a year later. Our orchestra accompanied Yehudi Menuhin, Ruggiero Ricci, Misha Dichter and Dmitri Rostropovich plus others less familiar but high quality artists. We played under the leadership of conductors Anton Kersjes, Neville Mariner, Kees Bakels and Gennady Rozdjestwensky (they spell his name phonetically). We even heard L’Histoire du Soldat performed in a tent in Museum Square in front of the Rijksmuseum. The conductor was Edo de Waart, who later became the principal conductor of the San Francisco Symphony when I was working there about four years later.
The pinnacle musical moment of my year in Amsterdam was the brass section during the Bartok Concerto for Orchestra with Gennady Rozdjestwensky conducting (February 2, 1973). Gennady was not particularly tall but nevertheless conducted without a podium and also without a baton. The combination of not being able to see him due to his height and the freedom of not having a baton gave him a phenomenal ability to shape phrases. We really had to pay attention and watch closely. His motions were tiny for the most part, so every little nuance meant a lot. There were no spare gestures. At one point, the brass have a chorale and he shaped the phrases with his fingers in a manner which was so exquisite that it sent tingles through our brains.
The music we played was quite stimulating. Because the orchestra was Dutch, we often played Dutch music. Diepenbrock was a favorite and we played his works many times. Programs were varied and balanced. We played the Bach St Matthew’s Passion, many Beethoven Symphonies (I’ve played them all), Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony, Strauss’ Don Juan, the Bartok Concerto previously mentioned and concertos from Paganini to Chopin. Banstraat 1 was buzzing with music any time we got a new program to study. We worked hard and produced a very high quality product.
Our resident conductor was Anton Kersjes. Kersjes means “little cherries”. He was a mild mannered Dutch man. When I showed interest in conducting, he offered me a spot in the Amsterdams Conservatory Muzieklyceum conducting class. I think he was flattered that I wanted to study with him. We studied several scores during the course of the year. I also bought a very small and cheap record player so I could practice with recordings. One of the pieces I studied was Brahms variations on a theme of Haydn. I’d practice the cues and tempo changes in our apartment and then conduct a rehearsal pianist at our weekly sessions. Mr. Kersjes would comment on how to keep my head out of the score and anticipate the cues. He provided the additional service of transporting me from our flat (or rehearsal) to the Conservatory. One day we were taking another student in his car who pulled out a cigarette. I’ll never forget how he gave this fellow a stern look and said, “Niet roken! Het gaat nooit uit” (Don’t smoke! It never goes away).
All the lessons were conducted in Dutch, so I gradually picked up the little phrases which are common “fillers” in any language. In English, examples are “uh”, “you know”, “like” and so forth. In Dutch, several of the phrases I noticed and started to use were “Na ja!”, “Pas op” and “Ja, hoor”. “Na ja” is simply an expression of understanding, sort of like “Yes, I get it” or “Wow”. “Pas op” means “look out” which is used on road signs as a warning. The last one, “Ja, hoor” got me in trouble. It means, literally “Yes, hear”, short for “Yes, I hear you” or just “Sure” or “Okay”—an indication of agreement. One afternoon, R asked me a question. Without thinking I responded, “Ja, hoor”. She stopped in her tracks and said, “What did you call me?” You see, the pronunciation of “Ja, hoor” is “Ya, whore”. I explained and then we laughed, but it was an awkward moment at first.
I learned to swear in Dutch as a result of our concerts in neighboring towns. The orchestra would provide a bus for these trips. At the back of the bus was a group of male musicians who played a simple little card game. If it didn’t go right for one of the players, he’d unleash a string of colorful expletives. I learned them but never had reason to use them.
R and I enjoyed the fact that the rehearsal schedule had me out in the morning, back during the mid-day and then out during the evenings. If I didn’t have to rehearse for a concert in the afternoon, we had much of the day to explore Amsterdam. We purchased an annual pass to the Rijksmuseum so we could enjoy the visual arts. Each free afternoon for the better part of six months, we could go linger in one room of this enormous and spectacular collection of fine European art. Because we were there during the “off” tourist season, we’d often have a room to ourselves even for famous exhibits, such as Rembrandt’s “Night Watch”. One of our special memories is the room full of miniature water colors.
Previously I mentioned that I could walk to rehearsals and concerts. We had no need for a car as the train and tram system was terrific. So for Christmas break we bought a week long train pass. We planned how to reach the farthest corners of Holland, get off the train, walk all day seeing the sights, then get back on the train for the ride back to Amsterdam. In this manner, we really did get a chance to know Holland. Some of the smaller towns have fine museums as well. We would often pack a picnic lunch to save money. We visited (in no particular order) Zaandam, Zaanseschans, Gramsbergen, Leeuwarden, Dordrecht, Delft, Enkhuisen, Middleburg, Hindeloopen, Utrecht, Alkmaar, Groningen, Rotterdam, and Zwolle. Later in the year, R found an intricate and beautiful cross-stitch pattern which named many of these towns and depicted the male and female traditional costumes. During my rehearsals, she worked diligently on this. For years we have displayed the result of her exquisite stitching in our home to help us remember that special time.
On New Years Day, we were invited to a party across town at a friend’s flat. The party started early (I think it was about seven o’clock) and was scheduled to go on into the night. We expected a lively time, as lots of the attendees were single. What we didn’t expect is that at midnight, fireworks went off such as you wouldn’t believe. Grown men were setting off major explosives to celebrate the coming of 1973. Rockets, loud screamers, cherry bombs and the like were going off throughout the city. R and I had planned to leave about midnight at the coming of the new year. We were scared to go outside so we stayed in the apartment for another full hour before venturing out into the street and back across town on foot. Even then, there was still some danger of an errant explosion.
Old Amsterdam is small enough that young healthy people can easily get anywhere within the old city limits on foot. We enjoyed our walks immensely for the architecture, the culture (museums and restaurants), the canals with their bridges and whatever might happen of interest along the way. To add structure to our wanderings, we chose Sunday mornings, the orchestra day off, to visit Amsterdam’s many churches. Each Sunday, we’d select a different destination (Oudekerk, Nieuwekerk, Westerkerk, etc.), find out their schedule and walk across town to attend the services. One such morning, we selected a church just beyond the train Station. Off we went. It was about nine-thirty in the morning and R had her hand on the crook of my arm. We were clearly a young loving couple. It turns out that the church we had selected was in Amsterdam’s red light district. And even at that time of day there were solicitors asking me (or perhaps even us) if we wanted some action. We found the church we sought, but not until we had passed a significant amount of sin sitting behind windows at street level with little red lights beckoning for not-so-innocent customers.
Whenever we walked to the Amsterdam train station, we had to pass the American Express office. Out in front were often people holding signs offering things for sale. One such item was a used Volkswagen bug. We saw it, liked it, and could afford it. So we bought it. It had a little rust under the doors but we figured that was cosmetic. So we named it “Rusty”. The engine worked fine. If something went wrong, I figured my experience working on our ’64 Volkswagen back home would help. Having a car gave us a bit more freedom to explore the more distant parts of Holland, a bit of Germany, and later enabled us see much of central Europe during our summer vacation. Then, before we left, we planned sell it. That meant that I had to get a drivers license and register the car. So I got a little taste of Dutch bureaucracy. Ad Klink, the trumpeter upstairs, was very helpful in this process. He explained where I had to go and what to do. With a minimum of hassle, I passed the written test and got a rijbeweis (drivers license). Petrol (gasoline) was a bit expensive, but the Volkswagen was pretty efficient, so we managed on our limited budget. To change the oil, they didn’t remove the drain plug, but used a machine to suck the used oil out through the fill tube. We only had to do that once.
Now that we had a car, R could join me on some of the run-out concerts. We could obtain a room together and stay overnight instead of having me go alone only to return to Amsterdam very late on the orchestra bus. We would often perform in churches, as some of the smaller towns did not have concert halls big enough to accommodate our large ensemble. On one occasion, in the Spring, we noticed that the schedule called for a concert in Luik, Belgium. We thought this would be perfect to tour Belgium for a bit, so we laid our plans to go early and come home the following day. We checked our Holland road map and drove south. As we got closer and closer to Luik, more and more signs with arrows pointed the direction: LUIK. Then, seemingly all of a sudden, those signs disappeared and we got hopelessly lost. What no one told us, and what we didn’t know, is that in Belgium they call Luik—Liege. In Belgium, the official languages are French and Flems (Flemish). Flemish looks the same as Dutch, but is pronounced very differently. That means we could read it, but not understand it when spoken. To be continued…
©Frank Bliss 2008 All rights reserved
May, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
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