2003 called: it wants its emotional moment back

I carry around big purses a lot, so sometimes I’ll see a cute dog on the street and actually think I can scoop him or her up, mush him or her into the bag with my computer, lip plumper and blotting tissue, and continue on my way. These are the things that drift through my head, and for a split second I’m certain I can pull the off the dog heist without getting arrested. If I suddenly stop blogging, it probably means I’ve actually done it and, in fact, gotten arrested; apologies in advance.

I lugged this white leather and plastic Jill Stuart monstrosity around LA this weekend and had a similar stroke of crazy about Disney Hall and Gustavo Dudamel. They could fit; I’ll just take out this map of Los Angeles, ditch the MacBook, move the make-up around…they could totally fit. Disney Hall looks bendable, as does Dudamel’s hair. Just come home with me. I love you.

Unfortunately, The Dude was not conducting while I was in town, and instead I sampled the auditory delights of John Williams Conducts John Williams. Even my cold, black heart was warmed by the “Imperial Death March” encore, though getting through the Memoirs of a Geisha suite with applause between all–I think 8?–movements was a challenge. But I’ve seen Dudamel conduct, and can say for sure that this appointment was not a matter of snagging a cool Dude with great hair from a Foriegn Land That’s Not Europe to garner some press and buzz for an American orchestra. This is an excellent musician and a consummate communicator who also happens to be all those other things.  As previously mentioned, I think the “Gustavo” marketing campaign is mildly ridiculous, but it was still encouraging to see posters all over town. I mean, all over town. I got lost on Sunset Boulevard (“twisting Boulevard”) and thought I could use the blue “Gustavo Awesome-O” or whatever street light banners as my breadcrumbs; big mistake, they’re everywhere.

I realize it’s silly to write my impressions of Disney Hall almost exactly six years after it opened on October 23, 2003, but you’ve read this far already, so just come with me. The John Williams Event was at 2pm, so my friend from college was going to drive me around the city and take me to The Grove for breakfast before the concert. The hall was a few blocks up from my hotel, but I hadn’t seen it yet, so when we drove by I started grinning and then, oh no, here it comes – crying! If you don’t know me, you probably think “crying” means a few tears running down my face dragging clumps of mineral make-up along with them, but sadly no: I really cry.  “Wait, are you CRYING?” my friend asked. “Should we pull over??”

How cool, though, that this is where the classical music lives in LA. This isn’t a museum or a hotel, it isn’t some crazy new apartment building for the rich and famous. This is the Home of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, and I was overwhelmed. I walked around the garden at intermission and took photos like a Proper Tourist. Of course the sunshiny weather didn’t hurt the building’s cause, but I would go to a concert every Sunday afternoon there if I could. And most importantly, just like its new music director, inside that shiny, wavy, exciting wonder is a hall that sounds fantastic.