Mahler #5 Symphonies 1&4 in Review

Mahler #5 Symphonies 1&4 in Review
Mariinsky Orchestra, Valery Gergiev, cond.
Carnegie Hall; New York, NY
October 24, 2010

Valery Gergiev

 

[Mahler was an inveterate reviser; he subjected many of his works to years of sporadic major and minor emendations, sometimes beyond their premieres. The First and Fourth symphonies are extreme examples of this obsessive self-criticism; he kept revising the First from 1884 to 1906 and the Fourth from 1892 to 1910.]

 

One of the most astounding aspects of Gergiev’s Mahler series was that all five concerts took place within a single week, during which the Orchestra also performed the Eighth Symphony in Washington, and Gergiev conducted “Boris Godunov” at the Metropolitan Opera. It was an extraordinary tour-de-force, a feat of physical, mental and emotional endurance that would cause battle-fatigue in the hardiest, most indefatigable musicians. But not until the last concert did they exhibit any kind of strain; their concentration seemed to flag, the horns clammed, intonation and ensemble precision were shakier than before. Toward the end, they rallied, marshaling their energy for the final push.

Having begun his Mahler series with the thorny, dark Symphony No.6, Gergiev concluded this installment with two of the brightest, most accessible ones: No.1 and No.4.

Mahler wrote his Sixth Symphony in 1903 and 1904, as usual in the summer. He had married his beloved Alma a year earlier; their first child had just been born and they were expecting another. It seems paradoxical that he composed the symphony he himself called the “Tragic” during that singularly happy time; some scholars have suggested that this was precisely what gave him the strength and courage to look into the darkness of the abyss. The sunny, cheerful Fourth Symphony with its sleigh-bells and its childlike, innocent description of heaven, on the other hand, was written during the early years of his musically and politically embattled Directorship of the Vienna Opera.

Among Mahler’s symphonies, the Fourth, begun in 1899, is unique in its comparative sunny brightness and cheerful spirit. This is already indicated in the movements’ tempo markings, which range from “comfortable” to “tranquil” and warn against haste and hurry. The orchestration, too, is lighter than usual, omitting low brass and percussion in favor of glockenspiel and sleigh-bells. But it is still haunted by  and sarcasm and eerie thoughts of death: the third movement is a spooky waltz called “Death plays for the dance,” a violin solo to be played on an instrument tuned a whole-tone higher to produce a strident, grating sound. (The concertmaster uses a second violin already re-tuned.) Leading into the from. The long slow Variation movement climaxes in a sudden burst of ecstasy that subsides to bring in the Finale: a setting of his early “Magic Horn” song “The Heavenly Life”, for soprano. Mahler originally planned to use it in the Third Symphony, but then felt it fitted better into the Fourth. It depicts a child’s vision of Heaven and is a companion-piece to the song “The Earthly Life.” Both are meditations on food: the “Earthly Life” describes a child starving for want of bread, the “Heavenly Life” describes a plethora of meat, vegetables, fruits, breads, and their preparation by saints and angels. Finally, it becomes a paean to celestial music and ends in blissful serenity.

Soprano Anastasia Kalagina in her third appearance on the series avoided the twin dangers, which Mahler himself warned against, of sounding either childlike or condescending, and sang with natural warmth and delicacy. The only cavils were that the violin solo sounded too civilized, not raucous or menacing enough for a “Dance of Death,” and that the strings “milked” the sentimental Viennese slides too gleefully.

The First Symphony, begun in 1884-1888, expresses Mahler’s profound love of nature. (It originally had a fifth movement which Mahler later suppressed and which is heard today occasionally as a separate piece. The title  “Blumine” is derived from the word “Blume” – flower.) It begins with a soft tone in the highest register, heard as if from a distance – Mahler says “Like a sound of nature.” Comparatively straight-forward structurally, it is not yet subject to as many eruptions of wrenching agony and fits of fury as the later symphonies, though perceptive listeners can already detect the seeds of those characteristics. It includes no voices, but is full of allusions to vocal music: two of Mahler’s own “Songs of a Wayfarer” and “Frere Jaques,” (known to German-speaking children as “Brother Martin”) in the minor mode. First stated as a mournful double-bass solo, it is developed into a slow, solemn, lugubrious canon that winds through the whole orchestra, then turns into a grotesquely distorted dance, complete with sliding strings and shrilling woodwinds. It is significant that, in addition to the title “Titan,” Mahler initially provided an elaborate descriptive program for each movement, and discarded it (as he later also did with the Third Symphony) when he felt that audiences no longer needed a roadmap through them.

New York audiences owe Gergiev and the Mariinsky Orchestra a great debt of gratitude for this concentrated immersion in Mahler’s symphonies, and look forward avidly to the cycle’s completion in February.

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

Orion String Quartet in Review

Orion String Quartet in Review
Mannes College of Music; New York, NY
October 22, 2010
November 11, 2010

Orion String Quartet

The Orion String Quartet (Daniel and Todd Phillips, alternating violins, Steven Tenenbom, viola, Timothy Eddy, cello), opened its annual concert series at the Mannes College of Music, where it is in residence, with a performance of “The Art of the Fugue,”  Bach’s monumental final work. He wrote it  in 1750 during the last days of his life, leaving the last fugue unfinished, as a kind of summing up of his exploration of counterpoint. He gave no instructions for the work’s execution, so it is up to the players to determine the most appropriate instruments for its realization. As a result, it has inspired arrangements for combinations ranging from small chamber groups to full orchestra. The Orion Quartet chose the transcription for four strings and five winds by the late great flutist, Samuel Baron, and enlisted the renowned woodwind quintet Windscape (Tara Helen O’Connor, flute, Randall Ellist, oboe, Alan R. Kay, clarinet, Frank Morelli, bassoon, David Jolley, horn) as partners.

The concert was extremely interesting. Baron used the instruments with great inventiveness, sometimes alternating strings and winds, sometimes mixing them in various combinations, sometimes merging both groups in their entirety. Such an imaginative transcription harbors the danger of focusing  the listener’s interest on the instrumental timbres rather than the musical content, as if the subject of a painting had been submerged in its brilliant colors. Baron averted this hazard:  though making the most of the instruments’ timbral variety, his settings underline and enhance the counterpoint and bring out the character of each section. The only somewhat incongruous, indeed jarring sound was that of the clarinet, which Bach could not even have imagined.

The performance was most excellent. Dynamics were carefully planned, calibrated for contrast, build-up, clarity and balance; the phrasing was exemplary, the playing expressive, austere, and pristinely beautiful. Naturally, each group was perfectly unified in itself, but when they intermingled or combined, they also sounded totally integrated.

For its second concert, the Orion reverted to its usual configuration as a string quartet for a program as deeply rooted in romanticism as the first had been in classical baroque: Schumann’s Quartet No. 1 in A minor, Op. 41 No. 1 (1842), and Schubert’s final Quartet No. 15 in G major, Op. 161 (1826).

Schumann’s Quartet finds him in his “Eusebius” mode. The first movement is lyrical, calm and serene, with long flowing melodies and friendly give-and-take between the instruments. The Scherzo (like most Scherzos written at that time), shows the influence of that supreme master of the genre, Mendelssohn, but it is more robust, less elfin than his. It also departs from its model by featuring two contrasting Trios. Schumann the “Lieder” composer takes over the slow movement, as one instrument spins out a sustained melody while the others weave garlands around it. The Finale is a brilliant run-around with the instruments chasing one another in cascading scale-passages.

The Schubert is not only one of the greatest, but also one of the longest, physically and emotionally most exhausting Quartets in the literature. The Orion added to its “heavenly length” by taking all the repeats – a feat of courage and endurance. The music encompasses the heights and depths of human emotion, but has about it an underlying air of resignation and farewell. In the first movement, drama and lyricism alternate; the questioning, searching second theme is developed with endlessly inventive rhythmic variety, accompanied by wildly leaping tremolos, a basically orchestral, strenuous bowing device that can make one’s right arm ache just to watch. The slow movement is one of Schubert’s most moving compositions. Its beautiful, melancholy minor-mode theme is interrupted by a wrenching outburst of passionate despair; the theme’s return in major seems like a sadly smiling, parting ray of sunshine.

The Scherzo is fleet, and spooky in the minor-mode passages; the Trio is a lilting, wine-happy waltz. The very long Finale is in constant emotional flux, not only between its several themes, but also within them, restlessly changing from minor to major, turbulent to carefree, stern to playful. Though technically and musically very demanding, its greatest difficulty probably lies in keeping up with these sudden, drastic mood-changes. The Orion’s players met this challenge, as well as all the others posed by this program, with flying colors. As is their custom, the violinists traded parts, Todd taking the first in the Schumann, Daniel in the Schubert. Though each has a distinctly individual sound and puts his own personal stamp on the works he leads, the group’s tonal homogeneity and musical unanimity is totally unaffected by who sits in which chair. Their expressiveness, always deeply felt and dictated by their response to the music, speaks directly to the listeners’ hearts. No wonder their concerts draw a standing-room-only audience of devoted, enthusiastic admirers.

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

Solomon Mikowsky Dedication Concert in Review

Solomon Mikowsky Dedication Concert in Review
Solomon Gadles Mikowsky Recital Hall, New York, NY
Manhattan School of Music
October 3, 2010

Dr. Solomon Mikowsky

“Turnabout is fair play”, the saying goes. Frequently, an institution will pay homage to a great and distinguished member of its faculty. But this time, Solomon Mikowsky – who has certainly earned a tribute for his years as a renowned piano pedagogue who has produced many fine artists (and competition winners) –  honored the Manhattan School of Music with a beautiful and heartwarming gesture: a gift of a superb recital hall, replete with two Steinway concert grand pianos and a capacity for audio and video recording (plus a third Steinway Model B grand for his adjacent studio). On Sunday afternoon, October 3rd, I was honored to be present for the grand opening festivities of the Solomon Gadles Mikowsky Recital Hall on the third floor of the MSM. Dr. Mikowsky’s tribute was not only to this school, but also in honor of 12 of his former and present pupils who held forth with a fine concert by way of a retrospect. The live recital commenced with a recorded performance of Bach’s Fantasy and Fugue in A Minor as performed by Mikowsky at the age of fourteen. In front of the audience was a photograph of the fledgling virtuoso (what a handsome devil he was!). Later on, at the behest of many of his appreciative charges, Dr. Mikowsky (who was going to remain silent) played a Galuppi Sonata with elegant taste and good tone, showing us all that he can still “do” as well as teach!

Dr. Mikowsky was born Solomon Gadles in Cuba of Russian-Polish parentage and his mother’s maiden name was Mikowska. His early musical training was with Cesar Perez Sentenat, who had studied in Madrid with Cubiles and in Paris with Joaquin Nin, a pupil of Moszkowski, himself a pupil of Liszt. Later, he earned his degrees at the Juilliard School, working with Sascha Gorodnitzki (Bachelors and Masters degrees) and a doctorate from Columbia University. Frequently invited to serve on the juries of important international piano competitions, he has given master classes worldwide, and is the author of a book on nineteenth-century Cuban music.

Dr. Solomon Mikowsky with his students. Photo Credit: Brian Hatton

The impressive recitalists included two Domenico Scarlatti sonatas (A Minor, Longo 241, Kirkpatrick 54; and A Major, L. 395, K. 533) played with brilliant note-perfect fluency by Inesa Sinkevych, but with one gaffe: the printedprogram attributed them to Domenico’s father, Alessandro, 1660-1725 (who wrote vocal music!); Liszt’s F Minor Concert Etude, La Leggierezza (Ian Yungwook Yoo); Chopin’s C-sharp Minor Etude, Op. 10, No. 4 (Kookhee Hong); Albeniz’s Asturias (Jovianney Emmanuel Cruz); Albeniz’s Evocacion from Iberia (Gustavo Diaz-Jerez (who had originally intended to play El Puerto from the same work); Lecuona’s Cordoba (Yuan Sheng, who played lustily, although I have heard him play Bach wonderfully well and also had glowing words for his Schubert B flat Sonata, D. 960); the ubiquitous Albeniz Tango in Godowsky’s  gussied-up arrangement (Ren Zhang); Scriabin’s Etude in C-sharp Minor, Op 8, No. 12 (Alexander Moutouzkine); Ravel’s “Pavane pour une infante  defunte” (Youngho Kim); Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in G Major, Op. 32, No. 5 (Wael Farouk, a Shura Cherkassy look-alike who I glowingly reviewed in New York Concert Review for his account of Rachmaninoff’s Third Concerto with the MSM orchestra last year); Busoni’s Sonatine super Carmen No. 6, K. 284 (Kirill Gerstein, a recent Gilmore Artist Award and Avery Fisher Grant winner); and finally the Aria from Bach’s Goldberg Variations (Simone Dinnerstein; truly an Aria da Capo; the first time I heard her play at the tender age of 11, Ms. Dinnerstein was a pupil of Dr. Mikowsky and she has many accomplishments to her credit in the intervening years—subsequent studies with Herbert Stessin, Maria Diamond (a student of Artur Schnabel) and Peter Serkin. Herself-produced CD of the Goldberg, now available on Telarc, has been acclaimed a best-seller).

I must comment that the room can accommodate an audience of 50, and that its acoustics are ideally crystal clear, absolutely perfect for the obvious ideals of Dr. Mikowsky’s taste for extreme digital clarity and articulation, Spartan and judicious pedaling and discipline, as opposed to an often esteemed and encountered murkiness that could (and often does) hide a multitude of sins by less technically adroit students.

The concert was followed by a lavish reception and dinner, capping a joyously memorable and touching occasion. Congratulations to all, and especially to Solomon Mikowsky!

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by Harris Goldsmith  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Mahler Symphony No. 6 – New York Philharmonic Review

New York Philharmonic
Alan Gilbert, conductor
Avery Fisher Hall, New Yrok, NY
October 1, 2010

New York Philharmonic led by Alan Gilbert-Photo Credit: Stephanie Berger

In 2009, the New York Philharmonic, America’s oldest orchestra, departed from its longtime tradition of engaging venerable European Music Directors, and appointed 42-year-old Alan Gilbert, the first native New Yorker to hold the post. Though he had established himself in previous appearances, his comparative youth seemed to cause some misgivings, which were dispelled by his very successful inaugural season. Now his performance of Mahler’s Sixth Symphony has convinced all who heard it that New York City has set its own homegrown star on the musical firmament.

Comparisons are notoriously odious, but it was impossible to avoid contrasting, even unconsciously, Gilbert’s approach with that of the two conductors of the Vienna Philharmonic, on display the same week. The period-style-influenced Harnoncourt seemed intent on proving a scholarly point, the charismatic Dudamel on proving himself; Gilbert was intent on serving the music and communicating his love for it.

Watching him conduct is a pleasure. He never exaggerates or calls attention to himself, making his  gestures fit the music without acting it out, and, however exciting or emotional the moment may be, his beat remains perfectly clear. Conducting mostly from memory, he knows the music down to the smallest detail, and responds to it with total involvement.

An articulate speaker and writer, Gilbert has sometimes addressed the audience before a concert to introduce the music to be performed; this time, he discussed it in the printed program, focusing on the conductor’s responsibility to make interpretive choices and decisions.

Mahler’s Sixth Symphony is beset by uncertainties. He kept changing his mind about the order of the two middle movements, and about the number of hammer-strokes in the Finale. Supposedly intended to represent the blows of Fate, Mahler originally wrote three, then eliminated the third as too final; conductors have made their own decisions ever since. For reasons explained in his essay, Gilbert opted to place the slow movement second, the Scherzo third, and to include the third hammer stroke.

But there are choices to be made in all Mahler symphonies, which, though less obvious to the listener, are no less crucial to the interpretation. Mahler was a superb contrapuntalist and orchestrator; he wove a dense, complex texture of many independently moving lines and voices. They all seem equally important in theory, but in practice, it is obviously impossible to make them all equally prominent; conductors constantly have to decide which should be highlighted. This is one reason why a familiar symphony can sound almost like a new piece in a different conductor’s hands: one hears lines that one never heard before.

 Gilbert again demonstrated his proven ability to make the densest scores transparent, bringing out many usually obscured lines without entirely suppressing the rest. Surprisingly, one significant detail got lost: the changes from major to minor that magically turn sunlight into darkness.

Mahler often changes color by distributing melodic lines between different instruments; connecting them without interrupting their continuity creates another challenge for conductors and orchestras. The Philharmonic musicians handled it admirably: their take-overs were totally imperceptible, and all the solos were marvelous. Altogether, the orchestra has never sounded better or more inside the music; the audience was drawn in from first note to last. But the performance was Alan Gilbert’s triumph: having made all the right choices, he paid meticulous attention to every detail, yet sustained his grasp of the whole, infinitely complex work, its manifold mood and character-changes, and its towering climaxes – a truly impressive achievement.

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

Sibelius’ Violin Concerto, Joshua Bell and the New York Philharmonic in Review

New York Philharmonic
Alan Gilbert, conductor
Joshua Bell, violin
Avery Fisher Hall, New York, NY
October 6, 2010

Joshua Bell- Photo Credit: Marc Hom

 Alan Gilbert, Music Director of the New York Philharmonic, started the new season with two contrasting works, one familiar, one unfamiliar: Richard Strauss’ lush, exuberant “Don Juan” and Hindemith’s glittering, humorous “Symphonic Metamorphoses on Themes by Weber.” Counting both among his favorites, he programmed them on the Gala Opening, on the first set of subscription concerts, and again two weeks later, but paired them each time with different works, including two virtuoso violin concertos: the Mendelssohn with Itzhak Perlman and the Sibelius with Joshua Bell.

One can assume that the concerts were attended by mostly different audiences, but the intrepid souls who heard all three programs were rewarded not only by some fabulous fiddling, but also by the chance to compare three different performances of the same works.

The latest program began with Debussy’s atmospheric “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun,” written 1892-94. Inspired by a poem of the same title by Stéphane Mallarmé published in 1876, the music depicts a faun passing a languorous afternoon in dreams and reveries. A true “tone painting,” it seems made of airy, dappled sunlight and fleeting shadows. The orchestration shimmers and glows with shifting, glittering colors; sinuous, elusive melodies wind through the texture; harp glissandi suggest leaves stirred by the breeze. Every instrumental timbre, singly and in combination, contributes to the sensuous, seductive effect. The piece, a test for a virtuoso orchestra, especially the woodwinds, features one of the literature’s greatest solo flute parts played wonderfully on this occasion by the Philharmonic’s principal flutist, Robert Langevin.

Joshua Bell’s performance of the Sibelius was terrific. The concerto brings out all his strengths: the effortless, unlimited virtuosity, glorious, variable tone, and romantic sensibility. The opening seemed to come from a great ice-bound distance, then, breaking free of the arctic cold, the sound became vibrant and intense; the great upward runs swept through the orchestra with dazzling bravura. The slow movement was dark, warm, and very expressive, and culminated in an ecstatic climax. The Finale was very fast and brilliant, but immaculately clear; even the impossible scales in thirds were perfect. In top form, Joshua Bell seems to be reaching new violinistic and communicative heights with every concert.

The Strauss and Hindemith also became more impressive with each performance. Gilbert seemed to exhibit greater confidence, freedom, and exuberance, and to encourage the musicians to do the same. In fact, the Strauss also became faster, demanding ever greater virtuosity from the players, and louder, with the percussion, partly placed toward the front of the stage next to the first violins, rattling the rafters – and the audience. But the build-ups were perfectly paced, the climaxes grand and rapturous.

It was good to hear the rarely-played Hindemith three times in close succession; repeated listening (and playing) clarified the complex counterpoint and intricate texture, and brought out the work’s light-hearted jocularity – a characteristic not often encountered in this essentially serious composer’s work.  

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

Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra led by Gustavo Dudamel with featured artists Lang Lang and Yo-Yo Ma

Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
Gustavo Dudamel, conductor
Yo-Yo Ma, cello
Carnegie Hall: Stern Auditorium; New York, NY
October 3, 2010

Gustavo Dudamel. Photo Credit Chris Lee

For the Vienna Philharmonic’s last two concerts, the young Venezuelan conductor Gustavo Dudamel took over from the veteran Nikolaus Harnoncourt, and a greater contrast can hardly be imagined. Even the seating of the string sections was different: Harnoncourt had the violins on opposite sides of the stage, Dudamel had them side by side. Only a few years ago, Dudamel created a sensation with his extraordinary talent; his amazing youthful accomplishments in his own country and abroad and his meteoric rise to fame culminated in his appointment as the Los Angeles Philharmonic’s Music Director last season. He has impressed New York audiences conducting not only his Venezuelan Youth Orchestra (which he has been leading for eleven years and is now replicating in Los Angeles), but also great orchestras like the New York Philharmonic, and his appearances are always eagerly anticipated. The Vienna Philharmonic’s concerts were no exception.

 The three romantic masterpieces on the final program: Brahms’ “Tragic Overture,” Schumann’s Cello Concerto, and Dvorák’s “New World” Symphony, seemed a perfect choice for displaying Dudamel’s boundless energy, exuberance, and involvement. And indeed his performance of the Brahms was full of promise: noble, somber and austere, it struck a fine balance between passion and restraint, intensity and release. There were no extremes of tempo or dynamics, none of the whispering and crashing of the Vienna Philharmonic’s earlier Beethoven program.

 If anyone whispered, it was Yo-Yo Ma in the Schumann. Of all the great cello concertos, this is perhaps the least soloistic; it feels less like a showpiece than a conversation between soloist and orchestra. Emphasizing its intimacy, inwardness, and the poetic, almost spoken quality of its phrasing and melodic rise and fall, Ma interacted closely with the concertmaster and with the principal cellist in their slow movement duet. Unfortunately, his best intentions were defeated by the size of Carnegie Hall; his playing had all its customary beauty, variety and expressiveness, but his tone was often lost in the large space. Nevertheless, he received a standing ovation, and, after embracing the conductor and as many members of the orchestra as he could reach, notably the principal cellist, he returned to play the first movement of Bach’s G-major solo Suite.

The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra Led by Gustavo Dudamel in Stern Auditorium/Perelman Stage with featuring artist Lang Lang. Photo Credit - Chris Lee

 

If the Brahms, with its avoidance of exaggeration, had brought out the best in Dudamel, the Dvorák did the opposite. Everything was excessive and overdone. There was no whispering, but plenty of crashing; this must have been the loudest “New World” within memory. The sound was so thick that many important melodic and harmonic details were lost; the build-ups were so precipitous that climaxes were often reached long before their time. The temptation to draw maximal sound from a great orchestra must be irresistible to a conductor, especially a young firebrand; Dudamel seemed to be unleashing the elemental forces of nature. His conducting style is marked by an almost unremitting tension; he seems like a taut wire, physically and emotionally. Conducting from memory, his gestures were angular and stabbing, producing lots of aggressive accents, or large and sweeping, producing great masses of sound. The result was a “New World” Symphony long on drama, intensity and drive, short on lyricism and repose. The audience responded with the sort of screaming associated with rock stars rather than classical conductors; the encore, the Waltz from Bernstein’s Divertimento, was blessedly quiet.

Though it is true that Dvorák’s “American” works were influenced by native American idioms, his own native Czech idiom is never far away; in fact, his music seemed to get increasingly Czech as he became more homesick. If he had lived long enough to hear the words “Going home” later added to the English horn melody in the “New World” Symphony’s slow movement (played beautifully at this concert), he might have felt that they echoed his own sentiments.  

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

Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra at Carnegie Hall

Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
Nikolaus Harnoncourt, conductor
Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
September 30, 2010

The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra led by Nikolaus Harnoncourt – Photo Credit: Chris Lee

If the Orchestra’s first program was distinctly conventional, the second program was distinctly unusual: Bedrich Smetana’s six-part tone poem “Ma Vlást” (My Homeland). Though rarely performed in its entirety, the second movement, “Vltava” (The Moldau), is often played separately and has become an audience favorite.

Smetana (1824-1884) has been called the founder of nationalism in music. At a time when his country was part of German-speaking Austria, he studied and mastered Czech, an extremely difficult language, joined the nationalist movement, and incorporated Czech folk-music into his compositions. (The most famous one is the delightful comic opera, “The Bartered Bride.”) “Ma Vlást,” a highly programmatic work, is a celebration of Czech culture, history, and the beauties of the countryside.

The first movement, “Vysehrad,” describes the grand medieval Castle that once towered above Prague; its theme, the majestic opening arpeggios played alternately by two harps (seated in this performance on opposite sides of the stage), recurs in different forms in several movements.

The second movement, “Vltava,” is a Rondo whose theme is a broad, haunting melody with a strange resemblance to Israel’s national anthem, “Hatikva” (Hope). The music follows the river from source to estuary; on the way, it encounters peasants frolicking at a wedding, elves dancing in the moonlight, a forest hunt, and the rapids. When it passes Prague and Vysehrad, the harps re-state their arpeggio theme, taken up emphatically by the orchestra.

The third movement, “Sarka,” is a percussion-driven war-like march. Sarka, a maiden betrayed by her lover, seeks revenge on all men; she has assembled a band of warrior-maidens to battle an army of men. She tricks its leader into falling in love with her, then drugs the men into a drunken sleep and calls on her women to slaughter them. The music is loud, wild, and chaotic – a vengeful orgy.

Peace is restored in the fourth movement, “In Bohemia’s Fields and Forests.” It, too, is sometimes heard separately; its pastoral serenity, melodic flow, rich harmonies and concluding cheerful dance have made it almost as popular as Vltava.

The last two movements, “Tabor” and “Blanik” are meant to be played together, because both are based on the same Hussite hymn. Tabor is a Bohemian town used by the followers of Jan Hus (later executed as a rebel) as the site of their resistance to royal authority. Blanik is a mountain where a band of dead knights (or their spirits) stands ready to aid the nation in times of travail. The Hussite chorale serves as a majestic march of the rebellious and ultimately victorious Hussites, and finally as an assertion of “the resurrection of the Czech nation, its future happiness and glory.” “Tabor” is perhaps a bit too long; the chorale is repeated too many times, though in different keys, but “Blanik” is concise and ends triumphantly, with the Vysehrad theme sounding in the distance.

The work was ideally suited to the famous “Vienna” sound: the warm, velvety strings, the colorful woodwinds, the mellow brass, especially the prominent horns. The musicians seemed to revel in their own ravishing tone, the masterful orchestration, the idiomatic Czech rhythms and melodic lines. Again, the only flaw was a lack of balance: the middle voices often obscured the melodies and the brass and percussion were too loud.

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

Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra at The Carnegie Hall Opening Gala

Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra
Nikolaus Harnoncourt, conductor
Lang Lang, piano
Carnegie Hall Opening Gala, New York, NY
September 29, 2010

Carnegie Hall opens its 2010-2011 season with a gala benefit concert featuring the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra led by Nikolaus Harnoncourt in Stern Auditorium/Perelman Stage. The all-Beethoven program includes Symphony No. 7 in A Major as well as the Piano Concerto No. 1 in C Major, featuring guest soloist Lang Lang. Photo Credit: Chris Lee

 

To launch its new season, Carnegie Hall invited the Vienna Philharmonic for four concerts, the first two conducted by Nikolaus Harnoncourt, the last two by Gustavo Dudamel. The Opening Night Gala also celebrated the Orchestra’s 101st performance at Carnegie Hall, giving it an especially festive air.  

As is often the case with Gala concerts, the program was very conventional: Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony and first Piano Concerto. The only surprise was that the 80-year-old German-born, Austrian-based maestro had personally selected the 28-year-old Chinese pianist Lang Lang as his soloist, an odd choice that seemed based on an attraction of opposites. But as soon as the music started, it was clear that it was grounded instead in mutual respect and pleasure in working together.  

Harnoncourt is best known for his pioneering work with period-instrument groups, but he has gradually broadened his activities, conducting symphony orchestras and exploring the romantic literature. Using no podium or baton, he exhibited a degree of physical energy and emotional intensity that a man half his age might envy. His Beethoven interpretations seemed to follow traditional lines: respect for structure, dynamics and phrasing; restrained tempi, steady rhythm, and expressiveness without sentimentality. The only exception to this moderation was his penchant for excessive contrast between loud and soft, and for going from whisper to explosion with startling abruptness. In the most forceful moments, the strings sounded positively scratchy, the brass raucous – a distinct departure from the Vienna Philharmonic’s famously pure, mellow tone. Moreover, in Beethoven’s frequent descending two-note figures, Harnoncourt exaggerated the phrasing by dropping the second note to near-inaudibility. The performance’s most pervasive flaw was a lack of orchestral balance, with the winds, especially the brass, consistently overpowering the strings. Though this often happens with today’s orchestras, it came as a surprise here. Generally, though, the playing was as fine as always; intonation, ensemble, and precision were impeccable; every instrumental timbre stood out yet blended into the whole. Concertmaster Rainer Honeck (whose brother Manfred recently became Music Director of the Pittsburgh Symphony), seemed unusually active, leading with vigorous, assertive motions of his whole body.  

Lang Lang played the Concerto beautifully, with charm and a courtly grace free of the exaggerations which sometimes mark his playing. His legato sang; he brought out inner voices usually ignored; his tone was lovely at every dynamic level and full of subtle colors and nuances. Rhythmically flexible but not erratic, the music was sprightly and rippling in the fast movements , simple and expressive in the slow one. Though he reserved his by now legendary virtuosity only for the cadenza, he received a standing ovation; four eager little girls delivered gorgeous bouquets, which he presented to the three women who have cracked the orchestra’s all-male code, tossing the forth into the wind section. Then came the encore: the Finale of Prokofiev’s Seventh Piano Sonata, a marathon of racing, pounding fingers so wild as to be virtually unrecognizable.

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

Music at the Ballet? Really?

Ballet and Music

Overheard before a performance of American Ballet Theater at the Metropolitan Opera House:  Old lady to usher: “Where can I get one of those infra-red listening devices?” Usher (incredulously): “For the ballet?”  Old lady (indignantly): “There’s an orchestra, isn’t there?”  With another usher’s help, she got her device and departed contentedly, but the incident clearly illustrated the disrespect with which a pit-band is customarily treated. Surely it is the management’s fault that the program lists the orchestra personnel in print so small as to be almost unreadable, and that, though section leaders often play substantial solos, their names are not included in the credits. Audiences are discourteous, talking during musical preludes and interludes and starting to applaud the dancers long before the music stops. But it is the dance critics who show their disdain for the orchestra most blatantly. They usually don’t mention the musicians or the conductors at all, and when they do, it is only to criticize, never to praise them. Obviously, the only people who actually listen to the music are music lovers and fellow musicians, especially those acquainted with the challenges facing a ballet orchestra: the technical difficulties of the scores; the constant alertness required to adjust the music’s demands to the dancers’; and the physical and mental strain of playing eight performances a week.

These reflections were inspired by several visits to American Ballet Theatre’s latest New York season. The repertoire featured some of the most formidable orchestral scores, such as Prokofiev’s “Romeo and Juliet” with its stratospheric string writing; Mendelssohn’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream” with its elfin fleetness and delicacy, and Tchaikovsky’s “Sleeping Beauty” and “Swan Lake” with their almost symphonic orchestrations. All include great solos for the principals; those for violin in “Swan Lake” are essentially concerto in length and virtuosity, but even concertmaster Ronald Oakland remained nameless in the program.

The programs also offered very skimpy information about the music itself. For example, the new ballet “Lady of the Camellias” was only described as set to “music by Chopin.” The program did not identify, or even list, the individual pieces, which included several Preludes and Waltzes in their entirety, and a lot of longer and shorter excerpts of different works for solo piano and piano with orchestra, such as the two Piano Concertos, the B minor Sonata, a Ballade, and two Polonaises. This omission left many members of the audience shaking their heads in puzzled frustration.

Performing this musical quilt required two pianists, so the Company invited Koji Attwood and Soheil Nasseri, both excellent players, to share the program. Probably because they were guest artists, they were given full credit in the program, though who played what was not indicated. But perhaps pianists are considered superior to humble pit-band players: the Company’s own fine pianist, Barbara Bilach, was prominently listed when she performed the solo part in Tchaikovsky’s Third Piano Concerto for “Allegro brilliante.”

Those who undervalue the musical dimension of ballet should remember that the music, whether arranged or expressly written for dancing, can stand on its own, while there would be no dancing without the music or musicians to play it.

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

The 2010 New York Musical Theatre Festival “Frog Kiss”

“Frog Kiss”
The 2010 New York Musical Theatre Festival
Theatre at St. Clement’s, New York, NY
October 4, 2010
Remaining Dates: October 6th, 10th, 11th and 13th

Hanley Smith and Curtis Holbrook, FROG KISS, NYMF 2010. Photo by Ellis Gaskell

“Frog Kiss”, a full musical production at the 2010 New York Musical Theatre Festival, is easy to embrace; it is hard to imagine anything more fun or memorable stemming from this festival, which is showcasing 27 full productions—many in the Broadway Theatre District area. A perennial, familiar heartwarming tale of acceptance, it is the lyrics and assemblage of characters that bring us originality, as does this particular cast.

The unfortunate news about this musical is that—unlike the long run of “South Pacific”, which we reviewed recently—it runs a total of only 7 times. Hopefully a much longer run is destined for this production and cast, which has the type of chemistry that would make any stereotypically-happy prince and princess proud. All the singers have fun with the staging, lyrics and music, and the full-house audience was with them all the way.

The excellent music by Eric Schorr has some “Candide”-influenced scoring, some Blues and Swing, and some Rap thrown in to keep with the times. The book by Charles Leipart is based on the Stephen Mitchell novella, and his lyrics are immensely enjoyable: “…a league of nations gives a girl palpatations” or funny innuendo such as “…a long sticky tongue for God only knows” when referring to the frog. “Frog Kiss” seems to spoof everything from Jimmy Durante to “West Side Story” (the line “a frog like that” instead of Anita’s “A Boy Like That”); French, German, Chinese and British stereotypes –Andrew Cao is hysterical with his British–to hints of Mel Brooks (“Three Ball Monte”, a jivin’ number in full swing, seems to get its musical influence from “The Inquisition”, a number from Brooks’ film “History of the World Part I”).

The song “Attention”, with music reminiscent of the “Cell Block Tango” in “Chicago”, gets the audience’s full attention with a tour de force, sexy performance by the terrific Manna Nichols as Hortense.  The opening of Act II is a very original play within a play, as the Princess and the Frog’s courtship is mocked by Hortense and Claus. Nichols and Theis Weckesser (Claus) do a good job pretending to be bad actors.

Princess Clementine, performed by the supremely talented singer and actress Hanley Smith, meets a frog she is determined to turn into a prince, and in doing so, Smith brings a multi-dimensional character to the fore—a unique mix of dumb blonde and probing intellectual, confidence and awkwardness, a combination of pomposity and sincerity along the lines of Meg Ryan’s character in “When Harry Met Sally”. Her voice is always on pitch and lovely in all aspects of the Broadway and coloratura range. Weckesser brings German-stereotype hilarity to his role of Claus. His performance brought to mind Kenneth Mars’ portrayal of Franz Liebkind in the original Producers film of 1968, and indeed after reading his bio, I see that he was cast as a Nazi storm trooper in the recent film version of the musical.

Other standout performers include Terry Burrell in a quirky, snazzy performance of Queen Margot; Curtis Holbrook’s endearing, evocative, and limber rendering of the frog, and Joseph Dellger, with his performance as King Frederic, the father of the two quarreling sibling princesses. The Director Kenneth Roberson, who did the choreography for “Ave Q”, does wonders with the staging and the actors, bringing variety and continuity at the same time. Zane Mark’s band, visible to house right, is a musical treat, as are orchestrations by Daryl Waters. The sound amplification had occasional interference, and balances between singers and the band, which sometimes overpowered due to not being in a pit, weren’t quite right. The sets are customarily bare for this type of festival production, but like much of the suggestive material, one can use one’s imagination. The excellent reaction-acting gives you a lot to admire, as there is so much variety in each actor’s expression that you don’t know where to look when several people are on stage; everyone, in other words, is always in the moment. The costume design by Austin Sanderson is fun and creative, and the choreography by Lorna Ventura is inventive, making good use of the stage.

The final performances of this run are on October 6th at 5pm, October 10th at 7:30pm and October 11th at 1pm—plus extended to include October 13th at 1pm— at the Theater at St. Clement’s, 423 W. 46th Street. Don’t miss “Frog Kiss”.

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by Anthony Aibel  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY