Downtown Los Angeles before the Walt Disney Concert Hall: Empty, bleak, why go? Downtown LA after: Striking architecture, illuminating tours, go. Before the hall's opening in October...
Downtown Los Angeles before the Walt Disney Concert Hall: Empty, bleak, why go?
Downtown LA after: Striking architecture, illuminating tours, go.
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Before the hall’s opening in October, the Bunker Hill area was known for little beyond the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, the former red-carpet site of the Academy Awards (even Oscar fled, returning to Hollywood a few years ago). Otherwise, its streets were as forlorn as an abandoned movie set.
But now the region is deserving of a second glance. Joining Frank Gehry’s silvery hall is the Lego-like Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels, as well as revitalization projects that include million-dollar hotel renovations, designer restaurants and art galleries. As for the Gehry building pardon us, the Walt Disney Concert Hall it is worthy of its own visit, even when its residents, the Los Angeles Philharmonic and Los Angeles Master Chorale, are not playing.
“There’s no night life downtown; people have to drive for it,” explained a guide during a free Symphonian Music Center Tour that includes the lobby of the Disney Concert Hall. “But we want to create this area as a center of the city, develop it as a sort of cultural center. And the Walt Disney Concert Hall is part of it.”
Plenty of choices
The concert hall joins the Chandler Pavilion (multipurpose facility), Ahmanson Theater (touring companies) and Mark Taper Forum (contemporary American dramas) in the great hulk known as the Music Center, which takes up a full side of Grand Avenue. (The complex also includes the new REDCAT, a theater and art gallery around the corner.)
But the Disney Concert Hall stands apart: It not only sits across the street from its compatriots, but it thrills like a rock show, while the other buildings are as exciting as lite FM.
The center’s pull was immediate. Twenty thousand folks showed up in November, when the slapdash tours were 15 minutes long and covered only the second and third floors of the five-level building. In December, more than 6,700 visitors took the expanded 45-minute audio tour, and the holiday weeks were sold out. On a brisk January weekend, the building was thrumming with people dining in the cafe, perusing the gift shop, snapping photos and bumping into one another, oblivious to the world outside their headsets.
The tour’s not perfect, as many of the floors are off-limits. Mainly, you can see the swooping stainless-steel exterior, often likened to a floating ghost ship; the airy lobby, with its sky-high glass doors that retract in warm weather; and the two-tiered outdoor garden, with a children’s theater, flower beds and a giant rose fountain made of Delft china fragments (a nod to Walt’s wife, Lillian, who adored fine-dining pieces). There’s also a gift shop and a cafe.
Oddly, the 2,265-seat auditorium is only for the eyes of concert-goers.
Auditorium is off-limits
“We can’t go into the auditorium?” a dumbfounded woman asked the young man distributing audio guides. He shook his head no. “But isn’t that where the concerts are held? Isn’t that the point?”
It is, but still no luck especially bad since the hall was dark that weekend, so you couldn’t even buy a ticket. There is, however, a model of the venue outside the Chandler Pavilion. And enterprising visitors, or at least those who are hungry, can find two flat-screen TVs in the cafe that display live images of the hall and even the performance.
A better view is on the second level, on another TV hanging near a marble-counter concession stand. The footage slowly scans with a fish-eye lens, so you can get a broad glimpse of the space. Most impressive is the “vineyard” seating arrangement (imagine terraced fields during a dry spell), the smooth Douglas fir walls, the wavelet ceiling that bulges like billowing sails and, back to center stage, the German pipe organ, whose 6,125 pipes vary in size from twig to telephone pole.
“I always ask the kids, ‘What does the organ look like?’ ” said Rudy, a genial staffer roaming the halls. “I tell them it’s something to eat.”
No, french fries. Oh.
Rudy adds nice touches
The audio guide covers all the basics and most of the floors: The hall was spearheaded by Lillian Disney (and her $50 million donation) to honor her husband’s love of symphonic music (the entire cost was $274 million); Gehry wanted to build the center out of stone, but agreed to cheaper steel; the carpeting’s raucous floral pattern speaks to Lillian’s love of flowers and on and on. But Rudy provided the colorful commentary.
On Level 5, he pointed out the exterior structures of the BP Hall, which resemble an “alien roller coaster.” In a skylit corner of the third level, he directed my gaze across Grand Avenue, to where one of the buildings seemingly leans like the Tower of Pisa. Back on the fifth floor, we lowered our heads down a narrow gap that dropped straight to the lobby what a rush.