Mostly Mozart Festival

Mostly Mozart Festival
Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra
Osmo Vänskä, conductor
Antti Siirala, pianist
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
August 14, 2010

Osmo Vanska-Photo Credit: Greg Helgeson

This concert was not only all-Mozart, but all dramatic, minor mode Mozart. It featured two guests from Finland: conductor Osmo Vänskä, a familiar presence at the Festival, and the young pianist Antti Siirala in his New York orchestral debut.

The program presented two symphonies rarely performed together: the “little” G minor Symphony, No. 25 K.183, written in 1773, and the “big” G minor Symphony, No. 40 K.550, the second of his three great final symphonies, all written in the summer of 1788. Mozart reserved the key of G minor for some of his most dramatic and most moving works, such as the String Quintet K.516. These two Symphonies share both characteristics, but, composed 15 years apart, are also very different.

The disparities are apparent from the beginning. The first movement of No. 25 is all energy and impetuosity, and while the second theme, in major, is playful and gracious, its return in minor is dark and ominous. The first movement of No. 40 has a pensive resignation, occasionally pierced by a surge of defiance or a ray of hope. The slow movements of both symphonies are in major modes. The early one, based on a single theme, is calm and simple; the later one is contrapuntal and complex; its initial repose is disrupted by wrenching dissonances. The Minuet of No. 25 is a rustic dance, that of No. 40 is weighed down with heavy cross-rhythms; both have genial Trios in G major. The Finales are fast, with avalanches of relentlessly rushing passages.

These symphonies were well suited to Vänskä’s active, emphatic conducting style. Visually, he was in perpetual motion, bowing, twisting and turning, stabbing the air with his baton; musically, it was reflected in dramatic overkill, slashing accents and extreme dynamic contrasts, which made the early Symphony seem anything but little. For the late Symphony, all conductors – and Mozart lovers – have their own interpretation. Väskä took a surging approach to the opening theme, with sea-sickness-inducing swells, not indicated in the score, in every pair of bars. His tempi were generally moderate compared to the hectic speeds often favored today; only the Finale of No. 40 was a headlong rush.

Mozart wrote only two piano concertos in minor keys; the program included the first, K.466, written in 1785, in D minor, another tonality associated with high drama (think of Don Giovanni and the Requiem). The Concerto is characterized by strong contrasts of dynamics, mood, texture, and confrontations rather than interplay between soloist and orchestra. The unusually extensive orchestral exposition begins with mysterious, syncopated murmurings in the low strings, terminated by a thunderous eruption by the full orchestra. The pianist enters, like a lone wanderer, with a new, gentle, pleading theme followed by rippling scale-passages, and continues to go his own way. The slow movement begins as a serene song in major, but the peacefulness is shattered by an outburst of running piano triplets in minor, driven by shrilling woodwinds. Calm is restored at the end, but turbulence runs high in the Finale, until the Coda turns to D major for what might seem a happy ending, but in fact feels like an attempt to ward off deep sadness.   

Siirala, winner of many European prizes, is an excellent, admirably self-effacing but communicative pianist. Putting his consummate technique entirely at the service of the music, he played with inward expressiveness, refinement and restraint; though careful not to exaggerate, he rose to the dramatic climaxes, including the long, elaborate, stormy cadenzas by Beethoven (who also wrote cadenzas for Mozart’s other dramatic Piano Concerto in C minor). The orchestra provided strong, empathetic support.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Mostly Mozart Festival

Mostly Mozart Festival
Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra
Lionel Bringuier, conductor
David Fray, piano
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
August 6, 2010

Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra-Lionel Bringuier, conductor-David Fray, piano - Photo Credit Richard Termine

This was one of the Festival’s All-Mozart programs: the Overture to “Cosi fan tutte” K.588, the Piano Concerto in E-flat major, No. 22, K.482, and the “Prague” Symphony, No. 38, K. 504. As it often does, the Festival presented two very young guests, both from France: conductor Lionel Bringuier and pianist David Fray in his Mostly Mozart debut.

The program’s opening and closing works were bright and spirited, though each started with a slow, solemn Introduction. The opera “Cosi fan tutte” is considered a comedy, but its humor is laced with sarcasm and leavened with ambivalence and regret. The Overture heralds these conflicting emotions. The Introduction alternates orchestral chords with an oboe solo so plaintive that the arrival of the Overture’s fast main part almost comes as a surprise. In the Symphony, too, the Introduction, the longest and perhaps most dramatic in all Mozart’s symphonies, generates a sense of such dark foreboding that the sudden shift from D minor to D major is quite disconcerting. The Symphony is unusual in having only three movements: two fast, sprightly ones framing a lovely Andante.

E-flat major seems to have been Mozart’s favorite tonality for his most mellow, lyrical music. Among his Piano Concertos, No. 22 is one of the most heavenly. The scoring for a full complement of winds gives it a rich, warm sound. Its emotional depth is immediately established in the orchestral Introduction; the piano then takes up and embellishes the themes. The second movement, variations in C minor, is a heart-breaking lament, and the final Rondo, like many others in that key, is a merry hunting song. But Mozart has a surprise in store: its central episode is virtually another slow movement, presenting entirely new, ravishingly lovely material in a stately, back-and-forth conversation between the soloist and the woodwind “Harmonie” section, who played absolutely beautifully.

David Fray, though still in his twenties, is the recipient of an extraordinary number of performing and recording awards, and has played in practically every great European concert hall. He made his American debut with the Cleveland Orchestra in 2009, and has also appeared with the orchestras of Boston, San Francisco, New York and Los Angeles. His performance at this concert was most excellent, without fuss, show, or exaggeration; his technique is always at the service of the music and so effortless that one forgets about it; his tone can be both delicate and sonorous; his expressiveness is concentrated and deeply felt.

The Festival Orchestra is in splendid form. The players not only sound good under every conductor, they are undaunted by their maestros’ sometimes exorbitant demands. On this occasion, Lionel Bringuier – who, at the age of 23, seems to have been everywhere and done everything in the conducting world – drove them beyond all reasonable speed-limits. He took the Overture at a tempo that made clear articulation and phrasing impossible; in the Symphony’s corner movements, musical and expressive details were lost in the head-long rush. If this sounds much like the report on the previous concert, that is not surprising: it sometimes seems as if many of today’s young conductors (and young instrumentalists too, for that matter) are determined to outdo one another in setting new speed-records. Surely even in the jet-age there is more to music than playing as fast as possible. 

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Mostly Mozart Festival

Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra
Pablo Heras-Casado, conductor
Gil Shaham, violin
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
August 4, 2010

PABLO HERAS-CASADO, conductor; GIL SHAHAM, violin with the MOSTLY MOZART FESTIVAL ORCHESTRA – PHOTO CREDIT – Richard Termine

This was one of the Festival’s “Some Mozart” programs; one third Mozart, to be exact. Mozart’s contribution was the Violin Concerto No. 5 in A major, K.219, the last, and probably the greatest, of his authentic works in that genre. It was performed by Gil Shaham, winner of the 1990 Avery Fisher Career Grant and the 2008 Avery Fisher Award, and one of the most appealing, versatile virtuosos before the public. Among his most captivating qualities are his charm and spontaneity, and, along with his brilliant technique and luxurious tone, they were on full display at this concert. Indeed, it may be his boundless facility that tempts him to succumb to today’s rampant infatuation with excessive speed. The Concerto’s slow movement was lovely, but the first, though clear, was rather hectic and over-accented; the Rondo lost much of its gracious courtliness, and the “Turkish” interlude raced past like a furious sandstorm. In the Joachim cadenzas, the runs were too fast for human ears. However, the fireworks brought the audience to its feet, eliciting an encore that turned out to be a piece related to the Mozart concerto by its Turkish roots, which Shaham recently heard in Istanbul. A relentless, super-fast marathon run-around, it sounded, to the uninitiated listener, like a Klezmer dance on speed.

The program began with Stravinsky’s “Dumbarton Oaks” Concerto, written in 1937 to celebrate the 30th wedding anniversary of the owners of that grand estate, where the United Nations were founded seven years later. Supposedly modeled on Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos, the Dumbarton Oaks Concerto is in three movements, all full of Stravinsky’s characteristic quirky, irregular rhythms and spicy harmonies. The first and third movements are bustling and dissonant; the second is a charming, leisurely, dance-like Allegretto. The 15 orchestral soloists played splendidly—singly and together.

Mostly Mozart has established an admirable policy of inviting rising young conductors, and this concert introduced the Spanish-born Pablo Heras-Casado in his Festival debut. Though only 32-years-old, he has conducted music from the 17th century to the immediate present in opera houses and concert halls all over the world; his American debut took place in 2008 at Carnegie Hall with the ACJW Ensemble (The Academy of Carnegie Hall, the Juilliard School and the Weill Music Institute). All this experience has given him a style that is confident but not showy, authoritative but not authoritarian. He handled the changing rhythms and textures of the Stravinsky expertly, with sparing, efficient gestures; unfortunately, in the concerto,  he frequently allowed the orchestra—especially the winds—to cover the soloist.

Beethoven’s Symphony No. 2, Op. 36, which closed the program, was also efficient, but—again in conformity with current trends—very fast, with excessive dynamic contrasts and sharp, aggressive accents, giving the music no chance to breathe or speak for itself. However, the brilliant Finale elicited a prolonged, vociferous ovation. 

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

“Der Rosenkavalier” and “Turandot” Great Performances at the MET

“Der Rosenkavalier” and “Turandot”
Great Performances at the MET
Lincoln Center/PBS Telecasts, New York, NY

Lincoln Center and PBS are repeating some of their popular telecasts from the MET, giving audiences a chance to retrieve what they missed or to revisit what they enjoyed. On July 29, the opera was “Der Rosenkavalier” by Richard Strauss and his renowned librettist, Hugo von Hoffmansthal, taped at the January 9, 2010 performance. Through its earthy humor and touching love story, this beloved masterpiece never fails to elicit laughter and tears, and with a stellar cast and Edo de Waart replacing James Levine in the pit, it exerted its usual irresistible magic spell. 

“Der Rosenkavalier” is too well known to require any introduction or explanation, so let us focus on the performance. The orchestra, an essential, integral element in all Strauss operas, sounded absolutely wonderful, both in the many solo passages and as a whole: rich yet transparent, ironically pompous, yet with a graceful Viennese lilt. The singing, too, was beyond praise: Renée Fleming and Susan Graham returned to their signature roles as the Marschallin and Octavian; Christine Schäfer soared easily into Sophie’s ecstatic heights, her voice as silvery as her Rose; Kristinn Sigmundsson displayed a booming, sonorous bass, and an almost authentic Viennese accent. Thomas Allen was a solid Faninal, Eric Cutler, in his all-too-brief appearance, sounded radiant as the Italian tenor.

The sets and costumes had the beauty and elegance of a period painting; the final scene was the usual chaos, saved by the Waltzes in the orchestra. The least satisfying aspect of the production was the acting, with exaggeration rampant everywhere, even in the small roles (Sophie’s Duenna ran around the stage frantically flapping her arms). Fleming, though essentially warm and dignified, perhaps overshot in trying to bring out the Marschallin’s swiftly-changing moods by going from girlish flirtatiousness with the Baron to inexplicable anger when dismissing Octavian. The “trouser” role of Octavian poses a double challenge: a woman pretending to be a boy pretending to be a girl. Graham had fun, but would have been more persuasive without the overacting. (Television’s facial close-ups are cruel: even she could not successfully pretend to be 17- years-old.) The temptation to exaggerate is greatest for the Baron, but Sigmundsson, a huge man who towered over everybody, turned him into an insufferable, overbearing lecher.

Schäfer seemed the only one who acted with unaffected dignity, true to her character’s artlessness and naïveté. Just how effective natural simplicity can be was illustrated in the first encounter between Octavian and Sophie. Standing perfectly still, they expressed their wonder at the magical experience of first love only through their voices. The scene was an unspoiled oasis of subtle interaction, genuine inwardness and calm.

On June 24th, PBS repeated its telecast of Puccini’s “Turandot,” taped at the November 7, 2009, performance conducted by Andris Nelsons. This was a surprising choice for a replay: the opera is hardly among the public’s favorites, nor among Puccini’s best works. He left it unfinished, but that is not its only, or even its primary, weakness. The music is repetitious and uninspired, and its pseudo-Chinese idiom sounds inauthentic and artificial; moreover, the leading soprano and tenor parts are virtually unsingable: Turandot makes her entrance with a very long, excruciatingly difficult, stratospheric scene; Calaf sings two of the most brutally demanding arias in the repertoire. Very few singers are equal to these roles, and in this performance, too, there were unmistakable signs of struggle. Maria Guleghina’s voice had a very wide wobble, and both she and Marcello Giordani had only one dynamic: fortissimo. The real stars were Marina Poplavskaya as a sweet-voiced, touching Liu, and Samuel Ramey as a dignified, pitiable Timur. The famously spectacular Franco Zefferelli production still upstages the music with its massive scenery, gorgeous costumes and surging crowd-scenes. Sometimes it seemed as if the entire population of the Forbidden City of Beijing had gathered on the stage.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Mostly Mozart Festival

Mostly Mozart Festival
Opening Night Gala Program
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
July 28, 2010

Stephanie Blythe, mezzo-soprano with Louis Langrée - Photo Credit Richard Termine

This is the Mostly Mozart Festival’s 44th season – an impressive display of longevity and resilience. It has weathered many internal and external changes that affected its programming strategy, and this year’s programs reflect some of them: they range from All-Mozart to Mostly Mozart, Some Mozart, A Little Mozart, and No Mozart At All.

Mozart is featured in its opening and closing concerts: the latter will be All-Mozart and the former began and ended with Mozart, the Overture to La Clemenza di Tito and the “Haffner” Symphony, K.385. In between came Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor Op. 21, played by Emanuel Ax, and arias from Handel’s Giulio Cesare and Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice, sung by mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe. Louis Langrée, the Festival’s Music Director, conducted the Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra. 

Most of the Orchestra’s musicians have been with the Festival for many seasons, but do not play together regularly all year; they must recapture and refine their ensemble every summer. Also, this is a chamber group rather than a symphony orchestra, so it lacks the power needed for some of the symphonic literature. For this program, however, it was just right, and it was immediately clear that it is in fine shape, able and eager to carry out its Maestro’s wishes. Langrée is an elegant conductor, though his arm-gestures make him look as if he were going to fly off at any moment, an impression accentuated by the full-sleeved shirts he wears. His style tends toward extremes of dynamics and tempo: the pianos are almost inaudible, the fortes are eruptions that shake the rafters. He likes to hear lots of winds and percussion, putting the strings at a serious disadvantage. The opening of the Overture, for example, was explosive rather than majestic. In the Symphony, the tempi were so fast that the music lost all charm and expressiveness; even the slow movement was very brisk, and the Finale raced past in a blur. 

 

Pianist Emanuel Ax with the conductor Louis Langrée - Photo Credit Richard Termine

In the Concerto, Langrée succeeded so well in keeping the orchestra from covering the soloist that, at times, the piano part seemed to float in mid-air without harmonic or rhythmic support. Ax’s playing, however, was superb. His tone was invariably beautiful, the legato sang, the chords were powerful but mellow; the runs were as clear and even as chains of pearls. His liberties—spontaneous and perfectly balanced—made the music flow as naturally as words spoken in a native idiom. The tumultuous ovation was rewarded with a brief Chopin encore. 

Stephanie Blythe’s voice is formidable: it can cut through and float above an orchestra, reaching the farthest corners of an auditorium. Its quality is unique, resembling dark amber in the low register, bright amber up high; by varying her vibrato, she commands an amazing range of intensity, color and nuance. The arias she sang were taken from two of her signature roles. Cesar’s prayer was devoutly thankful and supplicating; Orpheus’ lament was perhaps not heart-broken enough, but spun out a seamless melody. The famous opening aria from Handel’s Serse (better known as Handel’s “Largo”) as an encore was beautiful. 

This was a most promising start to New York’s favorite summer festival.  Welcome back, Mostly Mozart!

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

“Hamlet” by Ambroise Thomas-Metropolitan Opera

“Hamlet” by Ambroise Thomas
Metropolitan Opera
Lincoln Center, New York City

Hamlet- Marlis Petersen and Simon Keenlyside- Photo Credit Brent Ness

If an opera has lain dormant for 100 years, only a great performance can awaken it. Ambroise Thomas’ “Hamlet,” premiered in Paris in 1868, was last performed at the MET in 1897; it was revived this season in a new production by Patrice Caurier and Moshe Leiser, created for the superb English baritone Simon Keenlyside in the title role. Taped at the March 27 performance, it was telecast on July 15 as one of Lincoln Center’s truly “Great Performances at the MET.”

Though rarely remembered today, Thomas (1811-1896) was a prolific composer so highly esteemed during his lifetime that he was made Chevalier of the Legion of Honor, and Director of the Paris Conservatoire. Of his 13 operas, “Mignon”(1866), based on Goethe’s novel “Wilhelm Meister,” and “Hamlet,” both with librettos by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré, were most successful; to celebrate Mignon’s 100th performance, Thomas received the Grand Cross.

Choosing librettos from the world’s greatest literature is risky: the words tend to eclipse the music, and the originals have to be “adapted” out of recognition. In the case of “Hamlet,” first of all, forget Shakespeare – not an easy task. The story is drastically truncated; the situations are simplified and perverted, the characters’ actions and interactions largely changed. Polonius reveals his complicity in the dead King’s murder; Hamlet and Ophelia are engaged; the opera ends with Hamlet and Laertes fighting at Ophelia’s grave; both die after Hamlet stabs the King.

The production is an amalgam of starkness and overkill. The stage is bare, with moveable walls at irregular angles; at first, there isn’t a chair in sight, so the singers have to stand, or sit, crouch, and lie on the floor. The acting, initially fairly dignified, grows increasingly excessive. Gertrude, crazed by guilt and terror, behaves more like Lady Macbeth than Denmark’s Queen. An inordinate amount of red liquids are spilled on stage: Ophelia gets covered in blood as she kills herself by stabbing her breast and slitting her arms; Hamlet jumps on a table, pours jugs of red wine all over himself, then rolls to the floor with a frightening thud. One hopes the intermission will be long enough for him to take a shower and change his clothes. He not only “chews the scenery,” but actually digs holes in it with his dagger.

Adding real-life drama, soprano Natalie Dessay withdrew from the production for health reasons at the last minute. She was replaced by Marlis Petersen, who, though scheduled to sing Ophelia later, flew in from Europe the day before the premiere and gave a sensational performance on a single rehearsal. The singing was altogether spectacular. David Pittsinger was a sonorous Ghost (he reappeared several times); James Morris, after a wobbly vocal start, projected Claudius’ guilt- and fear-ridden bravado with grim authority. Jennifer Lamore made Gertrude hysterical but sang with purity and passionate intensity; in his debut, Toby Spence was a youthfully fiery, bright-voiced Laertes. Petersen brought the house down in what must be opera’s ultimate mad- and-death-scene, tossing off stratospheric coloratura acrobatics while staggering around the stage. But the evening was really Keenlyside’s triumph. In a vocally and visually riveting performance, he used every nuance of his dark, ravishingly beautiful voice, every shading of his somberly handsome, expressive face, and every gesture of his lithe, tightly wound body to bring the enigmatic, brooding hero’s ever-changing moods, feelings and states of mind to vibrant life, giving him more range and depth than either the libretto or the music.

Ah yes, the music. The beginning is very promising: a somber Prelude heralds the gloomy events on stage, using mostly low instruments, and featuring a long, arresting horn solo. Later, equally dark orchestral interludes put the spotlight on the trombones. What the music lacks is a melodic and harmonic profile. There are numerous arias, even one beginning with “To be or not to be,” but they do not define the characters or remain in the memory.

Major credit for giving shape to the individual scenes and the whole work must go to the conductor, Louis Langrée, known to New York audiences mostly as the maestro of the Mostly Mozart Festival. Equally at home in this totally different musical world, his mastery of the score and consummate baton-technique inspired confidence and security in the singers and orchestra, and his sensitive support and firm leadership contributed greatly to making this once famous opera seem worthy of being rescued from obscurity.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Songs by Les Six

Songs by Les Six
Helen Gabrielsen, soprano; Marcia Eckert, piano 
Lang Recital Hall, New York, NY
July 18, 2010

Marcia Eckert

After World War I, an informal group of young French composers banded together to write a new kind of music that would be leaner, more astringent and less sensuous than what was being composed at the time. Several were good friends, having been students at the Paris Conservatoire; six of them shared a concert in 1920 and eventually became famous as les six.

Some of les six’s songs were performed by soprano Helen Gabrielsen and pianist Marcia Eckert at Hunter College’s intimate Lang Recital Hall. Long-time friends and collaborators, their mutual musical interests include a special affinity for French music of the 20th and 21st centuries. The program offered a heady mix of musical and literary styles, from descriptive, nostalgic and passionate to sardonic and humorous. The songs required the singer to act as both narrator and participant, while the piano evoked the pictorial and emotional background with effects ranging from delicate tinkling to crashing chords.

Helen Gabrielsen

The titles of Francis Poulenc’s “Airs” – Romantic, Pastoral, Serious and Lively – (texts by Jean Moréas) spoke for themselves. Two songs by Arthur Honegger (texts by Apollinaire and Claudel) celebrated nature and love. Six songs by Germaine Tallieferre (texts, some anonymous, from the 15th to 18th centuries), were the most substantial and immediately affecting. Humor, both ingenuous and ironic, was provided by Darius Milhaud (texts by Jean Cocteau); Georges Auric’s “Alphabet,” (texts by Raymond Radiguet), and Louis Durey’s “Le Bestiaire” (poet not named).

The performance was excellent. Helen Gabrielsen’s voice was well-suited to this repertoire: light and clear, even throughout the range with an effortless top; her intonation was impeccable. Marcia Eckert displayed a large palette of dynamics, colors and nuances; she established and underlined mood and atmosphere, and offered both firm leadership and sensitive support.

Both performers are active soloists and chamber musicians, and have appeared with various groups and partners in New York and around the country. They also teach and coach at several music schools; the presence of numerous, very attentive children—some bearing floral tributes—testified to their students’ affection.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

New York Philharmonic

New York Philharmonic
Alan Gilbert, conductor
Christine Brewer, soprano; Jane Henschel, mezzo-soprano; Anthony Dean Griffey, tenor; Eric Owens, bass-baritone; New York Choral Artists: Joseph Flummerfelt, director
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
June 26, 2010

 

Alan Gilbert

Alan Gilbert

Alan Gilbert’s first season as the New York Philharmonic’s Music Director ended as adventurously as it had begun, with a premiere commissioned for the occasion. Both were written by Magnus Lindberg, the Orchestra’s newly-installed Composer-in-Residence; the first was titled EXPO!, the second Al largo. The composer provides the best description of his own music: “Only the extreme is interesting. Striving for a balanced totality is now an impossibility….” In Al largo—(meaning “offshore”)—a big orchestra with a huge percussion section produces a great, joyful noise with many brass fanfares and a multitude of instrumental colors, but without any discernible form or structure.

The main work on the program was well suited to demonstrate Gilbert’s ambitious, wide-ranging plans for his orchestra, and to celebrate the successful close of his first season: Beethoven’s Missa solemnis, Op. 123, one of the greatest, most formidable works in the literature.

The Missa has a singular history. Begun in 1819, it was intended, in Beethoven’s words, “to contribute to the glorification of the day” when his friend and patron, Archduke Rudolph of Austria, was invested as Archbishop of Olmütz. However, the Missa was far from ready to be performed at the ceremony a year later; indeed, Beethoven wrestled with it longer than with any other composition. Not until 1823 did he consider it finished, having in the meantime written his last three piano sonatas, and worked on the “Diabelli” Variations and the Ninth Symphony.

This unusually long period of gestation and contemplation could not but affect the nature of the work. Alan Gilbert thinks that what makes it so difficult to understand and perform is, at least in part, the dichotomy between its sacred and secular elements. But one might also say that it is the music itself that baffles and overwhelms both listeners and performers. It shows Beethoven at his emotionally most profound, his spiritually most sublime, and his intellectually and technically most intractable. Everything is driven to excess: the extreme changes of mood and expression; the constant shifts of meter, tempo, and dynamics; the abrupt swings from lyricism to drama, and from humble pleading to heaven-storming ecstasy. If Beethoven had any weaknesses, they lay in his vocal writing and his counterpoint, and the Missa naturally abounds in both. As in the Ninth Symphony, chorus and soloists are driven into the stratosphere for unsustainably long stretches; the fugues – and there are many – are so complex that they seem to get tangled up like coils of barbed wire. At times, even Gilbert’s usually unfailing sense of balance and textural clarity was defeated by the dense, overloaded score.  No wonder the work is heard so rarely.

The Philharmonic’s performance must have been one of the best in recent memory. Orchestra and chorus, meticulously prepared, were precise, secure, and emotionally involved; among the vocal soloists, the soprano was outstanding; the rest were good, though not well matched: the bass and alto were too subdued, the tenor was too heroic. Concertmaster Glenn Dicterow played his big solo in the Benedictus brilliantly, but his tone was too unremittingly intense.

The concert’s real hero was Alan Gilbert. His beat, as always, was clear and decisive; his transitions and tempo changes were admirably smooth and organic; his mastery of this immensely complex score, from the smallest detail to its monumental over-all structure, was prodigious; he led his enormous forces with the natural authority born of a thorough knowledge and deeply felt love of the music.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

New York Philharmonic

New York Philharmonic
Alan Gilbert, conductor
Håkan Hardenberger, trumpet
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
June 19, 2010

Hakan Hardenberger

Håkan Hardenberger

For the Philharmonic’s penultimate program, Alan Gilbert chose Mozart, Wagner, and the New York premiere of Aerial (1998-99) by HK Gruber.

Mozart’s “Little” G minor Symphony was crisp, precise, and finely etched. The fast movements were moderately paced but lively, the Andante sang, yet the overall impression was cool and reserved; the drama and the emotional intensity seemed underplayed, the contrasts muted.

Heinz Karl Gruber, born in 1943 in Austria, studied various instruments and composition at the Vienna Music Academy after having been a member of the Vienna Choir Boys for four years. New Yorkers heard him some years ago at the “Berlin Lights Festival,” when he performed cabaret songs by Kurt Weill and Hanns Eisler as “chansonniere.” A prolific composer of vocal and instrumental music in many genres and contemporary styles, he wrote Aerial on commission from the BBC for the London Promenade Concerts. It is the first of three works composed for Hakan Hardenberger, the Philharmonic’s soloist at this concert. A spectacular trumpet player, he switched between muted and unmuted trumpet, piccolo trumpet and cow’s horn with dizzying frequency, producing an amazing variety of sounds, and easily competing with a large orchestra, which, after a hazy beginning, gradually built up to a jazzy, uninhibited dance. The music is supposed to evoke a vision of a barren earth-landscape seen from outer space, an imaginative but literally and figuratively “far-out” notion.

Both Wagner‘s personal and creative life were marked by controversy and turbulence, so it may be worth noting that both works on this program – the Siegfried Idyll and the Prelude and Liebestod from “Tristan und Isolde” – were inspired by significant – and notorious – relationships. The Idyll was written in 1870 as a birthday present for his wife Cosima, and also to celebrate their wedding shortly before (following a seven-year liaison while both had other spouses), and the birth of their youngest child, Siegfried, in 1869 (they had three children before they married and none afterwards.)

Wagner wrote his opera “Tristan und Isolde” in 1858-59 while living in exile in Switzerland with his first wife. In dire financial straits, they were supported by Otto Wesendonk, a wealthy admirer; Wagner repaid his generosity by engaging in a passionate relationship with his wife, Mathilde, remembered today mainly for having written the texts of the so-called “Wesendonk Songs,” five steamy poems which Wagner set to properly lush music as an “exercise” for Tristan.

The Idyll was premiered by 15 musicians at the Wagners’ house as a birthday serenade; using mostly single winds and no percussion, it is his only lightly scored composition. (The Philharmonic’s performance was almost too intimate and so subdued that some parts were barely audible.) The Tristan excerpts, in contrast, with a full complement of brass and percussion, are among his most luxurious works. The Liebestod is also one of his most famous soprano arias; Wagner made an orchestral version so that it could be performed in concert. He succeeded in recreating its melodic richness, harmonic elusiveness and textural density, but some lovers of the opera still find it hard to accept Isolde’s death without Isolde.

One of Alan Gilbert’s most admirable strengths is his ability to create transparency and to bring out important voices without seeming to suppress the rest. This showed most impressively in the “Tristan” excerpts. Gilbert preserved the lush sonority and sensuousness, the kaleidoscopic color, the undulating texture, but the lines were so carefully balanced that every melodic strand and every harmonic twist stood out.

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Live from the MET: Simone Boccanegra

Live from the MET : “Simone Boccanegra”
James Levine, conductor
Placido Domingo, baritone, as Simone Boccanegra 
Adrianne Pieczonka, soprano, as Amelia
Marcello Giordani, tenor, as Gabriele Adorno  
James Morris, bass-baritone, as Jacopo Fiesco
Metropolitan Opera, New York, NY
PBS Telecast
June 20, 2010

Placido Domingo - Photo Credit Brent Ness -

All New York’s music lovers, especially those with difficulties getting around, owe a debt of gratitude to Channel 13 for its “Live from Lincoln Center” series: these telecasts are the closest they can get to the concerts and operas they love. The latest “Live from the MET” telecast, taped in February and broadcast on June 20th, presented the new production of Verdi’s “Simone Boccanegra” with Placido Domingo making his debut as a baritone in the title role. Audience expectations ran high, though Domingo has often mentioned that his vocal roots are in the middle register and blossomed into the upper one later. Indeed his voice has always had a remarkably warm, baritonal quality, and, since voices tend to darken with age, he is perhaps merely encouraging a natural vocal development. Nevertheless, after a lifetime as one of the world’s most beloved tenors, taking such a drastic step requires extraordinary courage, and its stunning success makes it an extraordinary achievement.   

Domingo’s decision to undertake his first foray into new territory in this vocally and emotionally challenging, complex role was daring but understandable. As Boccanegra, he has moved from portraying an impulsive, young, romantic tenor (like Gabriele Adorno in “Boccanegra”) to a historical character of his own age and maturity. The real Boccanegra was a famous pirate who was twice elected Doge of Genoa; in the opera, he grows from a frustrated lover determined to prove himself a worthy suitor, to an enlightened statesman determined to bring peace and justice to his people.  

Adrianne Pieczonka, Placido Domingo and Marcello Giordani - Photo Credit Brent Ness

Verdi wrote “Boccanegra” in 1857; it was a failure: audiences found Piave’s libretto confusing, and the long recitatives boring. In 1881, Verdi revised it, like many of his operas; with a lot of new music and a new text by Boito, it was a resounding success, though the libretto still had weaknesses: the characters’ actions and reactions remained baffling and unbelievable, and events predating the drama were sketched so cursorily that audiences cannot possibly grasp them. 

  

The opera takes place in 14th-century Genoa against a background of convoluted political and personal conflicts that generate misunderstandings, belated revelations and eventual tragedy. But Verdi was less interested in affairs of state than affairs of the heart, and dramatized the characters’ relationships with wonderful duets – not only between soprano and tenor in the obligatory love-duets, but also between basses and baritones in confrontations and reconciliations.  

 This is a dark opera, dramatically, visually and musically. After an orchestral prelude, played primarily by the lowest strings and winds, the curtain rises on two basses hatching a plot at night. Fiesco, the leading bass, enters, lamenting his daughter’s death. Then Boccanegra, her lover and the father of their illegitimate child, appears; Fiesco hates him, and, in a passionate duet, rebuffs his plea to resolve their enmity. Fast forward 25 years. Boccanegra discovers his long-lost daughter, Amelia; they rejoice, but he inexplicably insists on keeping their relationship secret; soon after, he learns that she loves Adorno, his political enemy. The central scene is set in the Council Chamber. The Doge is trying to persuade the fractious nobles and plebeians to make peace with each other and with Venice; when a riot breaks out in the street, he quells it by sheer force of personality. Meanwhile, Paolo, a vengeful courtier, pours poison into Boccanegra’s water-jug, initiating what must be one of the longest operatic death-scenes: after staggering around (and frequently falling) while singing incredibly difficult music, Boccanegra finally makes peace with Fiesco in another great duet.  

The production, conducted by James Levine, is most impressive—visually and musically: the scenery is simple and evocative, the orchestra is splendid as usual, though sometimes too subdued when accompanying the singers; the cast is strong. Verdi did not make things easy for the singers: several start off with a big, demanding aria, requiring some warming up. Adrianne Pieczonka is a beautiful but vocally uneven Amelia; James Morris, in excellent voice, is a majestic Fiesco, Stefan Gaertner a baleful Paolo. Marcello Giordani’s Adorno is heroic in more ways than one: it must take courage to share the stage with the singer who owned your role, yet he seemed inspired rather than intimidated. But it was Domingo who, in the best sense, dominated the stage. He inhabited his part completely, radiating a natural authority that seemed to make everyone more confident and secure. Though his top notes are understandably superior to his low ones, his voice is as focused, expressive and intense as ever. Rarely has there been a more triumphant debut.  

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by Edith Eisler  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY