Greetings all,
Nearly a year ago the Los Angeles Philharmonic announced that Helene Grimaud would be performing a solo recital of in January 2007 at Walt Disney Hall.
The day of the recital, the Philharmonic Association called to announce that she had cancelled due to "a back injury."
The recital was then rescheduled for June 17th. After waiting six months, I was particularly excited to hear her last night... until she vanished mysteriously after the intermission and never returned!
Here's the chronology of events from my vantage point, seated in the first row of the behind-the-stage seating:
After the audience has been seated, a voice over a loudspeaker announces a program change;
Mme Grimaud will no longer be doing the Rachmaninoff 2nd Sonata, but will instead to the Brahms No. 2.
So the program will be:
Bach-Busoni Chaconne
Chopin Berceuse and Barcarolle
Intermission
Brahms Rhapsodies, Op 79
Brahms 2nd Sonata
At last, after six months, Mme Grimaud enters the stage to
overwhelming applause and the loud shrieks/cheers of her rather cult-like following.
She smiles modestly and sits at the piano and the audience responds with the expected instant hush... at which point, not surprisingly, a cell phone goes off! (thankfully, it was before she'd played a note)
Mme Grimaud waits patiently before launching into an
extremely compelling reading of the Bach-Busoni Chaconne which the audience answers with thundering applause, cheers, and some attempts at a standing ovation.
Mme Grimaud then proceeds with an enjoyable and sensitive rendition of the Berceuse before immediately launching into the Barcarolle without giving the audience time to interrupt her concentration with more thunderous applause.
Near the end of the Barcarolle, in one of the particularly thorny spots, Mme Grimaud plays a couple of audible clunkers, after which she appears to zip through the remainder of the piece with an apparent lack of interest or concentration.
She wastes little time sustaining the final chord for very long before she stands and walks straight off the stage, never to return.
After an agonizing two minutes of lights illuminating an empty stage, the house lights come back on and we all assume that we've made it to the intermission.
After seating ourselves again, a nervous man emerges from the wings to read a press statement:
"Due to illness, Miss Grimaud will be unable to finish her performance this evening. A representative from Audience Services will contact you by telephone within the next few days."
Suspecting that Miss Grimaud has simply caught an incurable strain of what Glenn Gould described as "Emperoritus", my companion and I walk out of the hall rather disgruntled, before we are nearly trampled by a bunch of burly EMT's carrying oxygen tanks, masks, and walkie-talkies. As they climb into their ambulance, my companion politely asks: "Were you here treating Miss Grimaud?" The EMT in the passenger seat frowns and looks around as if he's not supposed to tell us anything before he nods an affirmation and slams the door.
Anybody know what happened?
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