The whole eighteenth century shook...

...when Jean-Fery Rebel's "Les Elemens" was heard for the first time. 

It’s a "simple" opening chord, really - just happens to use all 12 notes of the scale in one massive ear-straining cluster, representing the supercondensed chaos of all the elements that have all been squished into the same space, prior to the creation of the world. In the language of the French Baroque, no less! It has to be heard to be believed. (Fortunately, Boston Baroque is playing it this afternoon...) 

Earth, Water, Fire, and Air - they’re all in the mix, and over the extraordinary first movement of this piece, they keep trying to separate out into their true selves before being gravitationally pulled back in again and again. Only at the end of the movement is each finally able to break free and take its real place. 

Once that’s been sorted, Les Elemens continues in a slightly more regular way - with wonderful movements for each element in turn, Earth and Water dancing with each other, Air tripping along at top speed, and Fire burning its way through a rare and feisty duple chaconne. 

But before any of this happens, there’s this sweet, sweet, little moment. Right after Chaos subsides, out flies a tiny number called “Air pour l’Amour.” What's Love got to do with it? 

I guess, just like Bruce Willis figured out back in 1997, love is the fifth element.

(Obligatory note: if we are talking The Fifth Element, I would be remiss not to let this fantastic space diva have a word. Take a peek at this showstopping scene in which our hero models some absolutely awesome concert behavior while listening to her - including some inspiring emotional vulnerability.)  

There's something kind of delightful about looking at a concert program through the lens of love. The nice thing about love, as Juliet expressed so beautifully back in the day, is that once you have some, pretty soon you have some more. 

So if love becomes visible during the creation of the universe (or, as Martin Pearlman described it, becomes "the force that binds the other elements together") it also starts shining - can't even help itself - through all of the other music on the program. And that's a good thing. 

You start to see its outlines in the way that the Boston Baroque string section softens and liquifies itself around the subtle stylings of flutist Joe Monticello in Handel's flute suite from the Water Music. You see it in the way that the collective tone crisps up when Kathryn Montoya's recorder playing tiptoes and pirouettes into view. You see it when Handel whispers to the seconds, violists, and bassoon that they team up on a nice rollicking peasant dance in the roly-poly middle register where it counts. You see it in when a theme in the Concerto Grosso gets turned upside down and dances with its former self. Heck, you see it in the Royal Fireworks music (a hugely bombastic celebration of a hard-won peace) when the grand finale is not the exciting warlike movement, but a minuet that radiates joy and collective comfort. 

There are levels and levels of this, of course, some poured into the very foundations of the music, others into its detail, others into the intricacies of performance. Love expressed as intention, love expressed as care taken, love expressed as a dialogue with the moment. The more musical possibilities are on the table with a group, the more love is in the room. 

Listening. Paying attention. Being curious. Daring to act. Having the confidence to act that comes through trust. All these good things that happen when we commit to making art, they all show up as love the second we shine a light on them. 

And while we're on this topic, I have to shine a light in one more direction - towards my amazing parents, who are celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary precisely today! 

All my best on this beautiful day, 

Sarah