Jonathan Griffith, DCINY Artistic Director and Principal Conductor

Sir Karl Jenkins, CBE, DCINY Composer-in-Residence

Distinguished Concerts Orchestra; Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Stern Auditorium at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

January 16, 2023

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY) kicked off its 2023 season with a concert featuring music by its initial composer-in-residence, Sir Karl Jenkins, who has appeared with DCINY sixteen times since its beginning in 2008 (even taking into account the ‘pandemic pause’). DCINY owes a measure of its continuing success to the patronage not only of Jenkins, but also his wife Lady Carol Barratt, who were thanked in the program. Jenkins is one of the most frequently performed composers in the world, and it’s easy to understand why when one engages with his logical, tonal, non-threatening musical language.

The (uncredited) string orchestra began with a curtain raiser: Jenkins’s “concerto grosso” titled Palladio, in honor of the Renaissance architect whose villas remain paragons of proportion, and linear and spatial harmony- all qualities that adhere to music as well. Jorge Ávila, the always excellent concertmaster, was kept busy, as were other string individuals, with the back-and-forth answering typical of the form. (I only know Mr. Ávila’s name through personal acquaintance and repeated sightings at these concerts.) Even the most untutored audience member would recognize the first movement from the old De Beers TV commercial “A Diamond Is Forever,” which was ubiquitous for quite some time. Some have referred to Jenkins as a minimalist, but in this work, I was thinking something more neo-Baroque, along the lines of “Vivaldi 3.0,” to use software update lingo. The proportions of its three movements were indeed graceful, and they did not overstay their welcome, a quality sorely needed in the main work that followed.

Instead of an intermission, while the massed choir was taking to the risers and the orchestra was growing in size, a question-and-answer with Jenkins, hosted by NYC radio personality Elliott Forrest was held, which turned out to be essentially a promotion for Jenkins’s upcoming CD release (June 2023) One World.

Jenkins’s Requiem (2005) is dedicated to his father. A solemn tribute it is. All the sections of the Latin Mass for the Dead are present, as well as five Japanese haiku (two of them are combined with the Latin sections Benedictus and Agnus Dei). Those sections have the addition of a shakuhachi (the ancient Japanese end-blown wooden flute), played with style by James Nyoraku Schlefer, the only credited musician other than the ever-reliable Jonathan Griffith. Mr. Schlefer did not wear the traditional straw hat but did wear the long skirt-pant associated with the Buddhist monks and their Zen meditation. Crossing cultures is something of a personal mission for Jenkins. Also added to the strings were French horns, a harp, and an array of percussion that included various ethnic drums.

This is a Requiem that accentuates the consoling and/or sad tones of the mass until the In Paradisum, with a short detour for some of the requisite terror of the Dies Irae (Day of Wrath). A choir of 194 voices, on this occasion truly international (Australia, Canada, Germany, Switzerland, United Kingdom, United States [Iowa, Pennsylvania]) sang with obvious enthusiasm and involvement, though I was underwhelmed by their forte dynamics in the needed panic of the Dies Irae and the few other extroverted places. However, their soft shades and nuances were lovely, a tribute to Maestro Griffith’s ability to make unum from pluribus in a short period of time.

Generally speaking, the main interest in Jenkins’s music is harmonic, though matters become more interesting when he introduces imitative counterpoint. His chord progressions “telegraph” mourning. For me, the only issue was that once the affect is established, each movement goes on far too long, and too many of them have the same doleful quality. Jenkins’s time-honored re-use of themes and progressions (cyclical) also adds to the sense of stasis.

Jenkins’s claim in the program note that he used a “hip-hop” rhythm in the Dies Irae was off base. As a New Yorker, one hears hip-hop almost as an ambient accompaniment to daily life, and it wasn’t discernable here.

The haiku sections were some of the most imaginative and beautiful, in their combinations of Gregorian chant-like fragments with Jenkins’ customary procedures. There were some lovely stratospheric soprano descants floating above the crowd.

I’m not sure where the tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr. was aside from the date of performance, on the federal holiday, but “the snow of yesterday” (which we haven’t had) flowed like “water once again” in this refined performance of a work that is sure to travel far and age well.

Martin Matalon, composer

Elena Klionsky, pianist 

Salome Jordania, piano II (Track 4)

Eve Payeur and Julián Macedo, percussionists;

David Adamcyck, sound designer (electronics)

Joel Sachs, conductor, the New Juilliard Ensemble (Track 1)

MSR Classics: MS 1789

As fans of contemporary classical music will want to take note (if they don’t already know), an exciting CD was released this year dedicated to music by Argentinian composer Martin Matalon (b. 1958, Buenos Aires) on the MSR Classics label. The CD has four tracks, all with pianist Elena Klionsky performing in a central role, first as concerto soloist (Track 1), then as solo pianist (Tracks 2 and 3), and then as Piano I in a mixed percussion/electronic ensemble (Track 4). The works are from a timespan of fourteen years of Mr. Matalon’s output (2000-2014), and the range of techniques and expressiveness is wide.

Martin Matalon has made a growing international reputation for himself through many genres including opera,  choreographic works, installations, concert music, and film scores. He has won numerous awards, including a Guggenheim Fellowship in 2005, and he is currently the composition professor at the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse de Lyon. Organizations performing his works have included the Orchestre de Paris, Ensemble Intercontemporain, Orquesta de Barcelona y Catalunya, MusikFabrik (Cologne), and many other ensembles. His film scores have included one for the restored version of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (commissioned by IRCAM) as well as three for surrealistic films of Luis Buñuel. 

It was at the Juilliard School in New York (while obtaining his Master of Music Degree) that Mr. Matalon met Elena Klionsky, a pianist who went on to play throughout the United States in recital, orchestral, chamber music, and duo-piano performances. In her native Russia, she has performed with leading orchestras including the Moscow State Symphony, St. Petersburg Camerata, Ural Philharmonic Orchestra, and Russian Federal Orchestra. Coming to the US, she was mentored for many years by Isaac Stern as well as at Juilliard (first in the Pre-College Division, later for BM and MM degrees). She was the first foreigner to open the annual Moscow Stars Festival in the Great Hall of the Moscow Conservatory and has performed at the White House as part of its National Treasures event. 

For full disclosure, this reviewer was at Juilliard for several of the same years as Mr. Matalon and Ms. Klionsky but missed several decades of their careers since then. Having not seen Ms. Klionsky since school days and having remembered mostly personal attributes of sensitivity, delicacy, and a Romantic aura, I was not prepared for the playing of a tigress that emerged in several of this CD’s works! From relentless ostinato patterns and clangorous clusters to trills and soft coloristic effects, and everything in between, Ms. Klionsky shows that she is not to be limited to any one niche. Mr. Matalon, then a student of Vincent Persichetti, has also clearly forged his own paths, in a way that intertwines all the arts.

Poetry takes a role in Mr. Matalon’s first work on the CD, Trames IV: Concerto for Piano and Eleven Instruments (2001) with the New Juilliard Ensemble under Joel Sachs. As the composer writes, “The generic name ‘Trame’ is inspired by a poem of the same name by Jorge Luis Borges, which unveils for us the synchrony that exists among all elements constituting ‘universal history.’ Less ambitious and more circumscribed, my Trames evoke simply the ‘weaving’ proper to each composition, its ‘Ariadne thread.'” Despite its description as “less ambitious and more circumscribed” Trames IV is overwhelmingly complex in texture to the point of being dizzying. If one reads the very short Borges poem, La Trama,  telling of the attack on a gaucho in Buenos Aires and the eerie connection to  Julius Caesar’s betrayal 1900 years earlier, one can perhaps understand better the source of the harrowing, almost chaotic flight through time in this piece. Just to be clear, the word chaotic here is not meant to imply that the piece does not possess internal order, for though this listener failed to grasp the piece immediately in its entirety, it did seem oddly internally cohesive, as if a wrong note or beat would be easily apparent. 

At sixteen and a half minutes, Trames IV comprises five continuous movements. Though we are told of a prologue and epilogue and movements in between, there is no clear boundary from one to the next, a fact that seems appropriate to its themes of connectedness. Meanwhile, its mixtures of timbres, though using familiar instruments (strings, winds, brass, a full battery of percussion), create effects that sound completely new. As with combining flavors, it is an instance of the whole being “greater than the sum of its parts.” The expressiveness ranges from ominous and other-worldly to furious in its driving piano ostinato (think of the third movement of  Barber’s Piano Concerto, as if played on acid). Throughout it all, the pianist is part of the concertante texture, in which split-second timing is essential. One only wishes that this were a video recording, because the interaction had to be awe-inspiring at the live performance; it is remarkable, though, as it is. The liner notes state that this performance was recorded live at the Peter Jay Sharp Theater, Lincoln Center with Robert Taibbi as the engineer. Though premiered in Paris in 2001, Musical America listed this performance (2010) as the US Premiere. We can so glad that it was preserved and is shared in this CD.

The next work (Track 2) is Artificios (2014) dedicated to Elena Klionsky, who gives it its World Premiere performance here (recorded in a private studio in New York by Dale Ashley). Just around seven minutes long, it also covers a wide range, particularly in tonal register. As Mr. Matalon writes, “My interest at the time I wrote Artificios was to create polarities through a single musical parameter. I chose to underline the importance of register: how the same lines employed in the two extremes of the piano would imply a totally different perception of the material and create polarities: density and lightness, black and white, opacity and crystalline. The lines are inhabited by trills, spirals, loops, chirping birds, cascades and repeated notes.” Ms. Klionsky handles all of these components with conviction, particularly the glassy treble repeated notes, and with an improvisatory feeling that must surely have pleased the composer.

The third work, Dos Formas del Tiempo (2000, roughly translated as “Two Forms of Time”) is perhaps the most accessible work of the CD, just over seven minutes and developing its toccata-like left-hand opening in increasing complexity, syncopation, and cluster chords with never a dull moment. As the composer describes the piece, the musical “objects” that populate it include “explosions, trills, sparkling, garlands, spirals, repeated notes or resonances.” There are long stretches of crystalline motifs in a high treble register that are so subtly varying that, even if one were not enamored of the piece itself (and it is far from “easy listening”), one has to admire the pianist for processing it all and projecting it with such polish. One never gets the sense that Mr. Matalon wrote for the ease of the pianist (or for any of the instruments for that matter), but out of an urge to expand the piano’s sonic capabilities into the evocative orchestral realm of say, film scores. In fact, throughout the entire CD, one found oneself constantly imagining what images and drama would accompany it all if paired with film.

The final work on the CD, La Makina (2007, premiered in 2008 at McGill University) has the greatest sonic variety of all, through the combination of two pianos (Salome Jordania joining Ms. Klionsky) in addition to percussionists Eve Payeur and Julián Macedo, with electronic sound by David Adamcyck. The composer’s description once again partially eludes this listener’s full understanding, including “the time polarity created by the use of ‘suspended time’ as opposed to ‘pulsed time’ and the premises of lightness and density created by the use of ‘frequency zones’ which are often poles apart.” That said, there is such an ear-tickling array of sounds from the percussion instruments and electronic effects, that one can appreciate it on that level alone. In around twenty-two minutes it builds to an absolutely nightmarish peak – including what sounds like the cracking of whips – and it is hard to miss the dramatic import on at least a basic level. The performances are impressive, as with the entire CD, and the recording, by Frédéric Prin at the Conservatoire à Rayonnement Régional de Rueil Malmaison, France, is excellent as well. 

All in all, this CD represents a formidable achievement both for the composer and for the performers. Audiophiles, particularly contemporary music and electronic music buffs, will surely want a copy. As a bonus, those with the physical CD will appreciate the cover art (acrylic on canvas, 1994) entitled “Music” by Marc Klionsky, an especially meaningful depiction by the father of the talented Elena Klionsky.

Ian Hobson, piano

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

December 16, 2022

Strength and tenderness. Ian Hobson and Robert Schumann. As someone who uses words to describe music, I find myself at something of a loss how adequately to respond to Ian Hobson’s superb Schumann recital last night. Another installment in his “almost complete” presentation of the composer’s piano works, this one focused on the pieces that Schumann titled “Sonata” (except for No. 1) or movements that were originally conceived for a sonata and not used.

Mr. Hobson began with the single-movement Allegro in B minor, Op. 8, an early work (1831) dedicated to Baroness Ernestine von Fricken (also a student of Friedrich Wieck, she and Schumann were briefly engaged in 1834). Intended to serve as the first movement of a sonata, we know the other movements were at least sketched but forever lost, as the excellent program notes by the legendary Richard Dyer remind us. Its showy brilliance is reminiscent of Hummel, one of Schumann’s influences, as well as Paganini, who had just appeared with his devilish act in Leipzig. But the seriousness of the announcement of the “motto” theme B-C#-F#, is the real matter at hand. It unites the entire movement, appearing in the bass, or the top line melody, or middle-voice accompanimental figures, a token of Schumann’s obsessive study of counterpoint as well as scores by Beethoven, Schubert, and others. Mr. Hobson made this movement make musical sense. All of his virtues were present: a fearless virtuosity, but one that made ample room for the tender lyrical moments. Indeed one wonders why it isn’t performed more often, but it takes insight as well as fingers.

The rest of the first half was occupied with the multi-titled Sonata No. 3 in F minor, Op. 14 (1836). It underwent revisions and contortions (1853, by Schumann, and posthumously by Brahms), being known as Concert(o) sans orchestre, and Grosse Sonate at different times. Mr. Hobson restored one of the cut Scherzo movements, and two variations in the middle movement. With hindsight and biographies, we know of the tortured romance between Schumann and Clara Wieck, a virtuoso pianist who was the daughter of Schumann’s piano and composition teacher. Since the father strenuously disapproved of the suitor, the lovers resorted to all sorts of clandestine messaging—for us, the most interesting are the musical “ciphers” or encoding of Clara’s name by Schumann. Usually a descending five- or six-note motto, it is a unifying device used often by the composer. The first movement boldly states it outright at the beginning, and it is in every movement. Mr. Hobson’s playing was so organized (I mean that as a compliment!) that I had time to think that perhaps Schumann’s obsessive study of counterpoint was his way of staving off the chaos in his mind. And of course, that lovely variation movement- no cipher needed here, the theme is by Clara (of course her melody also descends, through a fifth). The sonata was premiered in a salon, that of Henriette Voigt (the dedicatee of Sonata No. “2” see below), in September 1836, and is dedicated to Moscheles.

After intermission, Mr. Hobson presented the best-known work of the four on this program: the Sonata No. 2 in G minor, Op. 22 (1833-1835/1838). (Never mind the incoherent numbering of these sonatas.) Clara wrote to her future husband: “I love it just as I love you; it expresses your whole being with such clarity, and at the same time it’s not too incomprehensible.” However, she asked him to simplify the “far too difficult” last movement, for “even though I already understand it and will play it if need be, other people, the public, even professional musicians—those for whom one composes—won’t understand it at all.” Once again, Mr. Hobson handled the G minor frenzy in Schumann’s quick movements with absolute confidence. The late Schumann biographer John Daverio once contacted me: What did I think when Schumann’s tempo was So rasch wie möglich (as fast as possible) and then later the composer adds Noch rascher (faster still)? I replied that for me it represents striving for the unattainable. Whenever I attend a concert with some Schumann, I listen for this quality. Tonight, I heard it, the “almost” falling-off-the-edge rush. There was plenty of Eusebian dreaminess in the slow movement, a solo piano reworking of an 1828 song Im Herbste (In Autumn): “Be off with you, O sun,/Hurry away from here!/So that she might be warmed/By me alone!”

As a sort of built-in encore, Mr. Hobson offered the original finale conceived for the above G minor sonata: Presto passionato (1835), and wow, this is where I can’t possibly do justice to the powerful abandon he conveyed. It is probably a good thing that Schumann excised it from the sonata and replaced it—its symmetry is a bit square, barely masked by the extreme tempo, though it contains many metric ambiguities (probably what inspired Clara’s comments above).

There are two more Schumann/Hobson events this season in February and April. A word to the wise: Don’t miss them.

Éva Polgár, pianist

Weill Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

December 15, 2022

Éva Polgár made her second major Carnegie Hall appearance of the season this Thursday in a program entitled “Evocation” including some new and rarely heard Hungarian piano music at Weill Hall. Just a few weeks ago, on November 27, she had impressed this reviewer in a demanding program entitled “Carpathian Impressions” including collaborations with two other pianists at Zankel Hall (also reviewed in New York Concert Review: Carpathian Impressions in Review), but this concert was all solos. She is a powerhouse indeed, combining a winning stage presence, a flair for programming, and highly communicative playing.

Bearing the Hungary Foundation’s title of “Cultural Ambassador of the Year” Ms. Polgár has proven, through her study and performances of Bartok, Liszt, Kodaly, and newer composers, to be a strong advocate for the music of her native Hungary. In this most recent recital, there were important offerings by Franz Liszt and Zoltán Kodály (as she announced, Kodály’s 140th birthday was the next day, December 16th), but she also gave New York premieres of two newer works, one by Hungarian composer László Dubrovay (b. 1943) and one by Russian-born Arsentiy Kharitonov (b.1984), both of whom deserve to be better known here in the US.

Opening with Liszt’s soulful Sursum corda, the recital was off to an uplifting start (literally, with the Latin translation being “Lift up your hearts”). Ms. Polgar showed her gift for pacing and control as the music built from its quiet beginning to its peak. In the next piece, Le mal du pays (Homesickness), she impressed with her coloring of alternating soprano and tenor lines, which were appropriately haunting. It is said that when Liszt played, the music transcended the instrument such that “the piano disappeared,” and one always hopes for that sense in performances of his works. Ms. Polgár’s performance did weave a spell –  and only in one or two spots, where one wished for more seamless pedaling, did the complexity of the instrument itself reappear.

Les Jeux d’eaux à la Villa d’Este splashed all homesickness away in sparkling fingerwork, and Ms. Polgár was in her element. Often one hears the focus on one facet more than another – either more wash of pianism or more wringing of the harmonic beauty – but we were fortunate in her interpretation to hear it all.

Selections (Nos. 2, 3, and 4)  from Seven Piano Pieces, Op. 11 by Zoltán Kodály were a refreshing move to the twentieth century.  Composed from 1910 -18, they show a strong French influence, especially that of Debussy, following Kodaly’s visit to Paris. In the doleful No. 2 Székely lament, Kodaly uses changing meters, ties, fermatas, and frequent changes of tempo to achieve a parlando feeling, and a sympathetic interpreter is essential. Ms. Polgár was just that. She played with intense feeling and conviction, unruffled even by an extremely disruptive cellphone.

The third of the Kodaly set, It rains on the city, reflects even more French influence referring directly to Debussy’s 1887 setting of lines of Verlaine ” il pleure dans mon coeur comme il pleut sur la ville” from the Ariettes Oubliées (inspired as well by a similar line of Rimbaud). It was bewitching in Ms. Polgár’s rendition, with steady repeated piano “droplets” beating poignantly alongside melancholy melodic motifs. No. 4, Epitaph found her skillfully balancing its chant-like phrases against stony chordal accompaniment, closing the set with solemnity.

Kodály’s Dances of Marosszék (1927) brought the first half to a close in high energy. Rather neglected in live concerts, this work can be a tour de force but is hard to hold together with its rather disparate dances – plus considerable technical challenges, including some octaves that are perhaps not overtly showy but can be simply awkward. Ms. Polgár was more than up to the task, and her surrender to the moment gave a special inevitability to its transitions. The dreamy central section was meltingly beautiful. One hopes she keeps playing this, as it could become a signature piece.

After intermission came the two New York premieres and two more Liszt pieces. The first premiere was Hommage à Fellini (The Last Dream of the Clown) by László Dubrovay (2014). It opens with what sounds vaguely like the opening of Liszt’s Gnomenreigen heard through a haze of pedal. It progresses to a circus-like waltz which balloons into a style reminiscent of grand operatic paraphrases, with just enough dissonance to make all feel a bit “off” – as if Godowsky had been filtered through the aural equivalent of a funhouse mirror; obviously, with the title Hommage á Fellini and given Fellini’s filmography, that “off” feeling constitutes a success.  Naturally, there are hints of Nino Rota, composer for a multitude of Fellini soundtracks – and if there were not in such an homage, one would be shocked. Ms. Polgár handled it all with brilliance – and from memory, something one does not necessarily expect with contemporary works, but which certainly adds to the depth of the interpretation.

Between premieres, Liszt’s Concert Étude No. 2 in F minor (La leggierezza) was the perfect buffer – even if not this pianist’s best performance of the evening with minor momentary lapses. It was a good Romantic backdrop for the premiere of the more tonally adventurous Concert Etude Op. 44, No. 5 by pianist and composer Arsentiy Kharitonov. Mr. Kharitonov is an intriguing new presence on the musical scene, and his work as a pianist is undoubtedly helping him as a composer to create valuable new additions to the piano repertoire. Ms. Polgar (again without the score) handled this work’s arched shape with artistry  – from its quiet beginning to its blazing dissonant fireworks and back to its desolate close. Any composer is fortunate to have such an able advocate, and Mr. Kharitonov was present for a well-deserved bow.

Liszt’s Legende No. 2, St-François de Paule marchant sur les flots (St. Francis of Paulus walking over the waves) closed the program, strongly and with only minor “spillage” – hardly of concern as miracles take place. An enthusiastic audience gave Ms. Polgár a standing ovation and was rewarded with another piece composed by Mr. Kharitonov, Les Exercices Romantiques (for two fingers, one from each hand). Ms. Polgár quipped that she would just be using two fingers because she was “tired” – but her remarkable performance, sounding like ten fingers at least, suggested otherwise! Brava!

Da Capo Ensemble: Steven Beck, piano; Marianne Glythfeldt, clarinet/bass clarinet; Curtis Macomber, violin; (Chris Gross, cello); Patricia Spencer, flute

Guest artists: James Baker, conductor; Lois Martin, viola; Michael Nicolas, cello; Yoshi Weinberg, flute/bass flute

Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, NY

December 11, 2022

For more than 50 years, the Da Capo Chamber Players have stood for excellence in performance, commissioning, and dissemination of contemporary chamber music. They show no signs of stopping any time soon. At its helm, the only original member of the group, flutist Patricia Spencer, whose playing would be the envy of many younger artists. And if you’ve ever entered the labyrinth of grant writing… well, then you know the value of her persistence and contribution.

It was fitting that the opening work on their excellent, challenging program was Charles Wuorinen’s Trio for Violin, Cello, and Piano (1983). Wuorinen resisted writing program notes, asking the listener to take the work on its own terms. He once said in an interview that all he wanted was for “people to pay attention” to his (or anyone’s) music, but that apparently contemporary audiences haven’t been taught to do so. That is definitely not an issue with Da Capo’s devoted following, in the intimate gallery space of the Tenri Cultural Institute.

The one-movement piece is roughly ten minutes long. The trio tosses ideas and statements back and forth, at times talking over each other, but no voice is lost in the conversation. Curtis Macomber, Michael Nicolas, and Steven Beck were superb. By the way, cellist Michael Nicolas was a last-minute substitute for the ensemble’s regular cellist Chris Gross. Mr. Nicolas had a huge responsibility in learning this complex program, but we must remember that he is a member of the famed Brooklyn Rider and the International Contemporary Ensemble.

Amy Williams’s First Lines (2006) is a collection of eleven miniatures, each influenced by the first line(s) of a different poem, which require both the flutist and pianist to perform extended techniques. The poets are Marilyn Chin, Toi Derricotte, Patricia Goedicke, Colleen McElroy, and Olga Sedakova. Yoshi Weinberg and Steven Beck created haunting, specific atmospheres, and a stunning variety of sounds. I certainly appreciate program music, but I guess I have an issue with pieces for which it takes longer to read the program note than to hear the actual piece. If this work had no title(s), would it have been any less appreciable? (See Wuorinen, above.) After all, the poetry served to activate feelings within Ms. Williams, which were then turned into music. Just a lingering question I pose from time to time.

The first half concluded with Mario Davidovsky’s Quartetto No. 4 (2005), for string trio plus clarinet (Marianne Glythfeldt, Curtis Macomber, Lois Martin, Michael Nicolas). Davidovsky earned much renown for his use of electronics, so it was refreshing to hear an “acoustic” work, though of course all music is acoustic by definition. Motivic unity was easy to follow, largely because of the expert playing. The work doesn’t shout, rather it shines. Strings begin somewhat mysteriously, then the clarinet enters, more melodically, and the ensemble tries various strategies to coalesce, but the essential differences between strings and clarinet can only be appreciated, not overcome.

After intermission, the five core members of Da Capo (Ms. Glythfeldt, Ms. Spencer, Mr. Macomber, Mr. Beck, with substitute Mr. Nicolas) took the stage for Robert Martin’s Nighttime, the “senior” work on the program, from 1979. It seems like a long time ago but sounds as fresh as if it had been created last year. A one-movement nocturne, it appears to evoke shadows created (perhaps) by firelight. Sonorities were perfectly melded between clarinet, flute, and strings. Martin’s aims were to find a musical transposition of the art of Arshile Gorky and respond to the Armenian holocaust. It is not up to me to determine Martin’s worth. That speaks for itself. I do believe he achieved his aim of “wholeness and presence” in this work.

Lei Liang’s Gobi Canticle (2004) is part of a series of compositions that grew out the composer’s admiration for Mongolian music. Its melodic material is based on another work, Gobi Polyphony. The melody is played against its own inversion and alludes to various genres of Mongolian music. Here, the violin/cello duo of Mr. Macomber and Mr. Nicolas was ravishing, creating what I believe was my favorite work of the evening. The moods were meditative and evocative.

Finally, After Serra (2000), by Jason Eckardt, employed the full sextet, and conductor James Baker. This work seeks an equivalent in music for another art form, in this case the monumental metal sculpture shapes of Richard Serra. If you live in New York, you may recall how much trouble Serra’s Tilted Arc caused when it was installed in lower Manhattan. (Eventually, it was removed, cut into three sections, and placed in a warehouse.) Mr. Eckardt senses an imminent, potential danger in Serra and desires to create a similar instability with his music, and I daresay he succeeds. I’m not even sure that with this excellent ensemble, it needed to be conducted. The music surged and receded, then crashed, and relaxed, but not in a way that invited stability. The composer, in attendance, received his generous, well-deserved ovation.

There are two more concerts in the Da Capo season: Women and Jazz in February; and Young Composers Abound III in June. Don’t miss them!

Philippe Quint and Stephanie Zyzak, violins;

Maurycy Banaszek and Paul Laraia, violas;

Adrian Daurov and Zlatomir Fung, celli;

Bohemian Hall at Bohemian National Hall, New York, NY

December 7, 2022

An unforgettable concert, combining six outstanding musicians in sextets of Tchaikovsky and Dvořák, took place this past Wednesday at Bohemian National Hall, part of the Aspect Chamber Music Series. As the founding Director of Aspect Music, Irina Knaster graciously thanked the sizeable crowd for coming, she remarked that, though there were many events to attend that night in New York, “you made the right choice” – she turned out to be exactly right.

Stepping into the Bohemian National Hall building on East 73rd Street is a bit like entering the home of nobility from some time in the 1890s, and thus it seemed a particularly appropriate place for the Aspect Chamber Music Series to present this week’s offering of two sextets from that era, the Dvořák Op. 48 (composed mostly in 1878) and the Tchaikovsky Op. 70, subtitled Souvenir de Florence (composed mostly in 1890). The hall’s Bohemian history suited the music of the two composers who blended a Germanic tradition with the music of more Slavic/Slavonic folk influence (as one common theme from the “Crossing Parallels” title of the evening). The feeling throughout was that of an intimate house concert, an unusually great one, and despite a full hall of well over 100 people, one could hear the proverbial pin drop.

All six performers listed credentials with serious firepower. Names that jumped out first included stellar first violinist Philippe Quint (whose multiple Grammy-nomination discography speaks for itself) and first cellist Zlatomir Fung, now known across the globe as the first American in four decades and the youngest musician ever to win First Prize at the International Tchaikovsky Competition Cello Division (2019). Violinist Stephanie Zyzak, violists Maurycy Banaszek and Paul Laraia, and cellist Adrian Daurov rounded out this illustrious group with impressive individual lists of prizes, principal positions, scholarships, festivals, and concerts. In the film world, they might be called an all-star cast.

Naturally, an all-star cast is not always what one wants in chamber music, as the players must be a team first and foremost; thankfully, here, they were. There have been performances of these works in which each player seemed to be vying for center stage, visually and aurally, and the effect especially in such complex writing is obnoxious, like a noisy conversation with too many speakers all at once. Sadly, some critics have thus called both works “busy” or “garrulous” – and the fact is that, because they are the bountiful outpourings of two miraculous melodists, both works rely on an ensemble’s ability to prioritize and know when and where to create a subsidiary texture, an issue too often overlooked. Also, large swaths within the works have to be kept to a lesser importance, lest the listener overdose on vicarious adrenaline.  (Perhaps, because of this profusion of material, the Tchaikovsky Souvenir has prospered for a century in string orchestra transcriptions, in which a conductor can more easily control the balance and shape.) Our evening’s artists, thankfully, met the challenges with resounding success.

In both the Dvořák and Tchaikovsky, the ensemble resembled a well-conducted orchestra or even a piano transcription in a way (by an expert pianist, that is), with a oneness of conception. While it did often seem as if the sextet by mutual agreement had determined Mr. Quint and Mr. Fung to be the leaders, their parts frequently prominent over subsidiary textures, that dominance was always inherent in the writing itself. These were performances of lucidity and proportion, with still ample opportunity ultimately for each player’s important lines to shine individually. This group went beyond being an all-star cast to be what one might call a “Dream Team.”

Highlights in the Dvořák were many but included (admittedly strangely) the beginning of the first movement’s development, where all was scaled down just perfectly before building back up – pianissimo but clear as a bell in each part. The Dumka was exceptional for its utterly natural flow in contrasting melodic outpourings, and again the phrasing and balance among players were sublime. The ensemble lit fiercely into the Furiant movement, with evident pleasure in its mellower trio section, and their last movement’s Stretta was an exuberant ride to the movement’s final Presto . Bravi tutti!

After an intermission, we heard a good prefatory twenty minutes about the music and life of Tchaikovsky from Ms. Knaster – comparable to what we’d heard about Dvořák at the opening, which I’d neglected to mention. At first, I had been a bit disappointed to learn that there were talks before each work, not mere introductory comments, but a twenty-minute-plus lecture about each piece and both composers’ lives. It seemed at first that the program notes by Stephen Johnson were enough – and, for a musician, the odds of learning something new about these very famous composers in a (presumably) layperson’s talk seemed slim; fortunately, I was proven wrong, and both talks were delivered with humor, some amusing visual aids, and several well-chosen anecdotes I had not recalled hearing before, with personal asides to lend a human touch to it all. Ms. Knaster drew the audience into these composers’ worlds, refreshingly and at times through the intriguing backdoors often ignored in fusty reference books. With such contextualizing talks as part of the series, it is no wonder that crowds are being drawn to this enriching experience. Aspect’s talks help audiences to know the composers – and the musicians help them to love the music.

Loving the music was easy in the Tchaikovsky Souvenir de Florence as played by our evening’s six musicians. It was launched with an Allegro con spirito that was hearty but not harsh, as it can be. The musicians built the energy to a perfectly synchronized stringendo and brilliant prestissimo which left the audience simply unable to restrain their applause. The Adagio cantabile movement next was striking for its chorale-like opening, played with minimal vibrato to set in relief its sensuous solo and duet lines to come. Though these operatic sections are naturally linked to Tchaikovsky’s Florence memories, the playing also reminded one that this sextet was written in years filled with the composer’s own ballet music – grace and momentum reigned.

The pacing was perfect, and the third movement brought the energy up a notch further. Incredibly rapid and amazingly synchronized saltando (bouncing) bowing was like a ballet in itself, and the energy was electric. Several times in this piece motives were passed down in such rapid succession from instrument to instrument that it was like hearing (and seeing) a musical chain of dominoes – riveting. The finale with its fugato writing built to an exciting and powerful finish, bringing everyone to their feet.

More about the Aspect Chamber Music Series, including upcoming events, can be found at their website: Aspect Music

Pepper Choplin, Mary McDonald, composers/conductors

Catherine Hamner, Vicki Hancock Wright, pianists; Heather Lake Bays, vocal soloist

Distinguished Concerts Orchestra; Distinguished Concerts Singers International

Carnegie Hall, Stern Auditorium, New York, NY

November 28, 2022             

Distinguished Concerts International New York (DCINY), the reliable presenter of multi-choir extravaganzas, is now in full holiday swing with its most recent offerings by two of America’s most popular composers of faith-based choral music- Pepper Choplin and Mary McDonald. On this occasion, the choirs appeared to be entirely domestic, ranging from Connecticut to Texas, by way of Georgia, Pennsylvania, Florida, Virginia, North Carolina, Illinois, and Indiana.

Mr. Choplin opened the program with a bracing, transparent account of And the glory of the Lord from Handel’s Messiah. Accompanied only by the “DCINY String Quartet” and three woodwinds, the sound, both choral and instrumental, would have satisfied any hardcore historically informed performance enthusiast. Every point of imitation in the choral parts was clearly audible. It was erroneously listed in the program as following Mr. Choplin’s work, and I would have loved to do some sort of straw poll to find out what percentage of the audience was aware of that.

I, for one, would not wish my music to follow Handel’s, but Mr. Choplin did just that, with his choral Christmas worship service titled The Seven Noels (Songs to Light the World). He states that it was developed for use in church “to help people connect to the story and the characters of Christmas.” That it does, through crafty melding of old familiar tunes and new material by Mr. Choplin in what he calls a cantata. The First Nowell is the framing device used to introduce each section. O come, O come, Emmanuel, Silent Night (with audience participation),  and Adeste fidelis (O come all ye faithful) are but a few of the themes commingling. I don’t know if Mr. Choplin writes his own texts, but the line “Life is beautiful, life is sad” seemed a bit simplistic to me, as did the musical arrangements, which are lacking in complexity. One thing Mr. Choplin achieved on this occasion was an avoidance of the gigantism that has overwhelmed some of his previous appearances with DCINY. I really appreciated the sharp diction achieved by the choir, no small feat when one has limited rehearsal time in which to coordinate many disparate ensembles into a whole. They were accompanied by the same small ensemble, helmed by violinist Jorge Ávila, the only one whose name I knew—it really is a shame to omit the instrumentalist’s names from the program—I seem to say this every year. They were joined by Catherine Hamner on piano.

The intermissionless concert (just some quick stage rearranging) then progressed to Mary McDonald’s music, very similar in style to Choplin, with the Carnegie Hall premiere of her Festival of Christmas, another merging of traditional tunes with original material. Postponed for two years due to the pandemic, it finally was able to shed its light on the season. Ms. McDonald performed with what looked like the full Distinguished Concerts Orchestra (again uncredited), piano played by Vicki Hancock Wright, and vocal soloist Heather Lake Bays. Ms. McDonald’s work is ambitious—a true overture preceded the choral parts, announcing the medley aspect of the piece with a flurry of carols, sometimes just a phrase, but enough to suggest the whole. The larger choral and instrumental forces did result in a less precise choral diction than was present in the Choplin part of the program, although the choral tone itself was energetic and joyous at its best.

Once again, O Come Emmanuel made its appearance- it seems composers can’t get enough of its modal minor flavor. The French carol Patapan, the Sussex carol, I Saw Three Ships, the words to The Midnight Clear, but set to a new tune, and even Adolphe Adam’s chestnut O Holy Night appeared. Like with Mr. Choplin, The First Noel made its statement; one novel touch was a rhythmic setting of Go Tell It on the Mountain!, an African-American spiritual. Beethoven even managed to sneak in (why?), with a variation on his 9th Symphony finale: An die Freude. Vocal soloist Heather Lake Bays contributed beautifully to O Come Emmanuel and O Holy Night, with a clear bright soprano that sounded a little bit more pop than classical, and that was fine with me.

This evening, which did not overstay its welcome, brought pleasure to all-participants, audience, and yes, even this reviewer.

Justin Bischof, conductor

Alexandre Moutouzkine, piano; Eganam Segbefia, trumpet

Merkin Hall, Kaufman Center, New York, NY

November 30, 2022

On a cold and rainy evening at Merkin Hall, The Strings of Modus Operandi Orchestra offered an excellent program, with works from Dmitri Shostakovich, Richard Strauss, and rising star Jessie Montgomery (b. 1981). Those who braved the bad weather and early start time (and there were many, including a large contingent of very enthusiastic Manhattan School of Music students) were witness to masterful music-making in outstanding performances.

Before I get into the review proper, I must bring up (again!) the issue of program notes. The printed materials gave very generous space to the organization and the featured artists, but only a few lines about the Jessie Montgomery works and not a word about the Shostakovich or Richard Strauss works. The historical background of these works is key in the understanding of them, and, especially with Shostakovich, there are clear biographical connections. To omit any mention is at best negligent and at worst inexcusable.  Part of the concert experience is to educate – and yet another opportunity to do so is lost. Give brief summaries of the artists, with web addresses for further reading, and save some space for the composers and their works.

Conductor Justin Bischof took the stage and welcomed the audience. He spoke a bit about Jessie Montgomery (who had played in the Modus Operandi Orchestra) and how delighted he was to be offering two of her works, Starburst and Strum. Even those these works were not played consecutively, I’m going to discuss them together. These short works (approximately three and seven minutes respectively) are a welcome addition to any concert. There is witty interplay, driving rhythmic vitality, and just enough stridency to underscore the thematic material without ever losing a sense of tonality. After hearing these works, it is easy to see why Ms. Montgomery’s star is on the rise – she is a highly skilled composer that writes in an extremely accessible manner that is not derivative or self-conscious. Played with unabashed enthusiasm, it was a very enjoyable start to the evening.

Dmitri Shostakovich’s Chamber Symphony, Op. 110a followed Starburst. The Chamber Symphony is an arrangement of his Eighth String Quartet, Op 110, by Rudolf Barshai, one of the founders of the Borodin Quartet and long-time conductor of the Moscow Chamber Orchestra. Barshai wrote “When I finished the score, I showed it to him (Shostakovich). He liked it very much, and with his own sense of humor and exuberance, he shouted: ‘Well, that sounds better than the original. We will give the piece a new name: Chamber Symphony, Opus 110a.'”

Maestro Bischof mentioned a few common themes: The DSCH motif (consisting of the notes D, E-flat, C, B natural, or in German musical notation D, Es, C, H, standing for the composer’s initials in German transliteration: D. Sch.=Dmitri Schostakowitsch), and the three knocks on the door in the middle of the night from the KGB. One could add quotes from the “Dance of Death” theme from the Piano Trio No. 2, Symphonies 1 and 5, and the First Cello Concerto, amongst others. Professor Peter J. Rabinowitz has also suggested covert references to Richard Strauss’s Metamorphosen.

Maestro Bischof led a highly taut performance. The tension simmered, but never in the overt manner that some feel is necessary to “demonstrate the point,” i.e. “Here is the dance, here is the DSCH, etc.” The three knocks reverberated through the hall in such a way that even a listener without the benefit of knowing the context would have instantly sensed the terror. The appreciative audience recognized a truly superior performance, reacting with a long, loud, and extended standing ovation, the kind that one usually only experiences at the end of a program, not an unfinished first half.

Pianist Alexandre Moutoukine and trumpeter Eganam “Ego” Segbefia took the stage for the opening piece of the second half, Shostakovich’s Piano Concerto No.1, for Piano, String Orchestra, and Trumpet, Op. 35 (1933). Written three years before the infamous “Muddle Instead of Music” article in Pravda that easily could have ended not only his career but his entire existence (two prominent figures that defended Shostakovich, Isaac Babel and Vsevolod Meyerhold, were later shot in the purges), the Op. 35 is the work of a young man full of confidence and enjoying the adulation of fame, both at home and abroad. There is Shostakovich’s trademark sardonic wit (but without the bitter flavor that is in later works), with quotes from Beethoven’s Appassionata and Rage Over a Lost Penny making appearances. Moods change suddenly – one moment it is serious and the next it is “off to the races” in a frenzy. This concerto is a favorite of this listener, so I was eagerly anticipating the “ride.” It was all I hoped for.

Let’s talk about the soloists – first, Mr. Segbefia, as this reviewer has a definite interest in all things trumpet. I would have loved to have trumpet students hear Mr. Segbefia’s playing, as it was a virtual clinic in so many ways: crisp and clear articulation (none of that lazy de-guh de-guh double tonguing), tonal control in lyric passages without using the “schmaltzy” pseudo-vibrato tone that drives me to distraction, and how to project with mute without loss of intonation. I’d like to hear Mr. Segbefia play again – I suspect that the Arutiunian Concerto would be up his street.

Mr. Moutoukine is a true dynamo. He was “in it to win it” – there was no playing it safe or half-measures as he tore into the piano with almost maniacal energy. In between the blazing octaves dispatched with lightning speed, he also projected lyric sensitivity that was enchanting. I am usually not so interested in the visual aspect (and I despise histrionics), but in this case, it was almost as much fun to watch Mr. Moutoukine as it was to hear him. Both soloists were given standing ovations, with several callbacks to the stage.      

The final work of the evening was Richard Strauss’s Metamorphosen for 23 Solo Strings (1945). There has been extensive discussion about the “why” and “what” of this work that goes far beyond the scope of this review. What is not in dispute is that this is a masterpiece – Maestro Bischof called it “one of the most exquisite pieces ever written.” He also mentioned that five themes form the work. Two are from Beethoven – the third movement of the Fifth Symphony and the Funeral March of the Eroica Symphony.

This work is deceptively difficult. While there is nothing particularly demanding in the individual parts, it is still twenty-three different parts and any momentary lapses are not easily masked, not to mention the ensemble challenges (unity of intonation and balance, amongst others). It’s not enough to play the notes, the ensemble must be of one mind, not twenty-three minds. Maestro Bischof proved to be a leader to fulfill these demands, as the Modus Operandi strings held the audience spellbound for the full twenty-five minutes of this work. I was incredulous about this work following the Shostakovich, but I left convinced that it was an astute choice for ending the concert. One had a sense of the collective audience holding its breath as the final measures (quoting the first measures of the Funeral March) dissolved away into a pianissimo ending. (Strauss wrote the words IN MEMORIAM! in the score at this point.) The audience finally exhaled and rewarded the orchestra with another standing ovation. It was a superb ending to a memorable evening. Congratulations to all.

Alexander Hersh, Cello; Victor Asuncion, Piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall

New York, NY

November 30, 2022

It was an exciting assignment to review cellist Alexander Hersh, winner of the 2022 Pro Musicis International Award, as Pro Musicis has such an excellent track record with its winners; having now heard this winner’s recital in Weill Hall, I can say that this awardee is no exception. In a program entitled “Beyond Borders,” this young musician showed an openness and passion for all that he played, and, given the Pro Musicis mission to promote “visionary concert artists who awaken the human spirit wherever they perform,” he seems to be a fine choice.

He played a program of highly diverse composers – Claude Debussy, Paul Wiancko (b. 1982), Benjamin Britten, Robert Schumann, Fazil Say (b. 1970), and Giovanni Sollima (b.1962). Mr. Hersh’s artistic statement on the Carnegie website and the printed program said it all: “This program, entitled ‘Beyond Borders,’ traverses six distinct sound worlds with the cello as a guide. Invoking ancient instruments while breathing life into music of our time, the program probes sonic possibilities, both familiar and fantastical.”

Though Mr. Hersh, as the recent winner of Pro Musicis, tends to get “top billing,” one would be remiss not to give equal credit in all duos to the superb collaborative pianist, Victor Asuncion. It was Mr. Asuncion who played the first declamatory notes of the recital setting the tone for Debussy’s Cello Sonata in D minor. It was good to see the piano lid up on the full stick, as this was repertoire-wise a duo program (except for two contemporary solo cello works). As Mr. Hersh entered with his first big cello phrase, it was clear that the two players were well matched and quite attuned to each other. The duo captured Debussy’s shifting moods well – especially as it moved on through the Sérénade and the spirited finale.

Paul Wiancko’s Microsuite was the Pro Musicis commissioned work that all finalists were required to play, but Mr. Hersh’s performance here was the public World Premiere. As an introduction, the composer Mr. Wiancko writes, “It is exhilarating to discover music that unlocks something in us. As a young cellist, my first plunge into the rich darkness of Bach’s Fifth Suite for Solo Cello was deeply formative. I will also never forget the thrill of stepping into the worlds of Lutoslawski, Chick Corea, or Mahsa Vahdat for the first time. As I composed Microsuite, I channeled the thrill of these moments of discovery, and in the process enjoyed a renewed appreciation for the cello music that impacted me in my youth. I hope this little piece might serve as a reminder that there is always potential to gain a deeper understanding of ourselves simply by stumbling onto something new.” Some of the above influences could indeed be sensed, and, though this listener would probably need a second hearing of the piece to fully grasp it, Mr. Hersh’s enthusiasm for it was certainly infectious and went a long way in breaking any proverbial “ice.” He prefaced the piece by saying, “I consider myself Paul Wiancko’s greatest fan” and shared that he was absolutely “giddy” at the prospect of playing his work. He seems an ideal champion for this composer’s music, and the composer, who was present, took a bow afterwards to much applause.

Mr. Hersh had another tough nut to crack with Britten’s Cello Sonata in C, Op. 65, which closed the first half. This enigmatic piece is, as the cellist suggested “not easy listening” but even the neophyte listener could use his spoken descriptions as a guide to the five movements, from the Dialogo‘s “speech patterns,” to the almost comical variety of pizzicati in the Scherzo, to the bleak Elegia‘s hypnotic figures, to the energy of the Marcia movement (like the gait of someone “not particularly stable”), and finally to the Moto Perpetuo‘s demonic quality, “like a machine out of control.” All were realized expertly by this duo, right through to the dazzling octaves building to the rather “tacked on” sounding C major ending. This duo “sold” the piece.

While Mr. Hersh clearly has a mission to reach out to his audiences, that does not mean he does so at the expense of his own growth or exploration. In other words, there was no pandering. He chose a fair amount of repertoire that would be challenging even for the most experienced player to fathom, let alone to relay to experienced listeners, let alone to relay to the lay listener. The ability to project a conception was thus even more crucial than usual in this difficult repertoire. Thankfully, he did that extremely well throughout the evening,

After intermission, we heard a relatively tame version of the Fantasiestücke, Op. 73 by Robert Schumann (and sounding even tamer in the context of the rest of the program), and then two more contemporary selections, starting with Fazil Say’s Dört Şehir (Four Cities).

Turkish composer Fazil Say is something of a lightning rod for controversy, but his boldness in speaking up about his beliefs in the face of Turkish oppression goes hand in hand with the boldness of his music. Much of the intensity of Dört Şehir is attributed to its time of composition, 2012 when Mr. Say was facing a possible prison sentence. The third movement, Ankara, is filled with evocations of darkness and struggle and is almost unbearable to hear with its loud piano blows and extended techniques. The beauty of the trance-like opening movement, Sivas, lay in sharp contrast as did the jazz-infused final movement Bodrum. The second movement, Hopa, we are told is marked with something akin to “as fast as possible” – to which Mr. Hersh quipped “challenge accepted.” Accepted indeed! Much admiration goes to this duo for championing this deserving work.

The final work on the program was Giovanni Sollima’s Lamentatio (1998) for solo cello. The piece contains an encyclopedic range of extended techniques – plus chanting, wailing, and singing – as the cellist himself described it, “Gregorian chant meets Metallica.” It is not a piece for the shy or stodgy, but Mr. Hersh is neither of those. He took it on with gusto, as he did the entire program.

After rousing applause, he offered a piece by a musician he dubbed “everyone’s favorite encore composer” – Anton Webern (from his early cello-piano pieces of 1899). After some initial tittering, the audience appeared to enjoy this gently lyrical piece, showing that this cellist is already breaking down walls. It will be exciting to watch Mr. Hersh’s career.

Pro Musicis is to be congratulated once again. Incidentally, this concert marked the 100th Pro Musicis recital in Weill Hall, a great milestone to reach. Here’s to the next 100.

Long Island Concert Orchestra

Gianluca Marciano, Conductor

Ginevra Petrucci, Flute

Good Shepherd-Faith Presbyterian Church, New York, NY

November 30, 2022

Let us not be mistaken about two things: 1) All musical activity in the world does not take place on a small strip of land called Manhattan. 2) The amount of talent, dedication, fund raising, and hard work it takes to keep an endeavor such as the Long Island Concert Orchestra afloat is enormous. A relatively new ensemble (founded 2016), it has the advantage of being small, but has already begun carving out its own unique place in the area’s cultural scene. I could not see all the players from where I was sitting, but the instrumentation looked like six first violins, six-second violins, four violas, three cellos, and a double bass—or “three string quartets” with an extra cello and the bass.

Under the efficient but sensitive guidance of conductor Gianluca Marciano, they gave us a program of beautiful string works and a concerto. The historical time range for all four works was 1780-1960, yet a wide range of styles and colors was included. A subtitle for this concert might have been- works adapted from other works by the same composer (three out of four).

Samuel Barber was one of the composers who was not resentful of the phenomenal success of his Adagio for Strings (expanded with the addition of a fifth part for double bass), drawn from the String Quartet, Op. 11 (1936). It seems Barber knew its destiny, for he began the adaptation right away, while he toiled mightily revising and re-revising the Quartet for two years. As Barber declared, with gastrointestinal metaphor, to his cellist friend Orlando Cole: “I have vague quartettish rumblings in my innards…” (The letter continues in this vein, getting more explicit until Barber realizes and cuts it off.) Despite his self-conscious work ethic, he did not lack confidence: “I have just finished the slow movement of my quartet today—it is a knockout!” How right he was! The Adagio took on a life of its own—the orchestral version premiered on the radio in 1938, conducted by none other than Toscanini, and received a rave review from Olin Downes. It was recorded by Toscanini in 1942; the first work by an American composer that he conducted, broadcast, recorded, and took on tour to Latin America. Many filmgoers have heard the Adagio without being aware of who the composer is, and it has come to be “the choice” for occasions of great national mourning, such as FDR’s, Einstein’s, and JFK’s funerals. During WWII, scores of Barber’s music were even flown to Shostakovich (who also appears on this program) in Russia.

The Adagio worked its ineffable magic, speaking in a very personal way, directly to the heart, though it is a difficult (risky) way to open a program. My only wish was for there to have been a greater sense of “pull” between the notes, a reluctance to leave the previous note before going to the next—this isn’t a matter of tempo, but tension. That being said, large orchestras can go slower than small ones—this performance didn’t seem as far removed from its quartet original.

Next came a spirited rendition of C.P.E. Bach’s Flute Concerto in D minor. The work, a reconfiguration of a previous harpsichord concerto, seems to inhabit two worlds, as did the composer, the very Baroque texture and sound of the Allegro first movement, a sensitive Andante, and finally the Sturm und Drang (storm and stress, a term from literature) of the final Allegro molto. One might imagine Frederick the Great, C.P.E.’s employer and a virtuoso flutist in his own right, having heard the harpsichord concerto, saying “Here, here, Carl Philippchen, make something for me out of this, won’t you?” Ah yes, if only we had such “cultured tyrants” in our modern world, hobnobbing with the likes of Voltaire and the Bachs.

Ginevra Petrucci was the flute soloist. She played with great musicality, and lots of fire in the third movement. Maestro Marciano drew vivid, stylish contrasts from the group. I noticed a few things, none of which derailed her fine achievement: 1) The flute used in 1780 would have been transverse (held crosswise), but not a Boehm-system modern flute like the one she played, which was not developed until 1847. 2) I did miss the rustle of the harpsichord continuo underneath the string sound. 3) The orchestra and the soloist played certain appoggiaturas in the first movement’s main theme differently—perhaps this was a deliberate choice, but possibly it could have been worked out.

Here I would like to advise the group on two (not-so) small points: With such a reduced number of personnel, it would be very pleasing to have everyone’s names listed. And, as my regular readers know, I am obsessed with program notes. Even if it takes another sheet of paper folded in half inserted into your program, it is not “cool” not to have them. If you or one someone you know can’t confidently do them, hire someone. Please.

After a brief pause (the post-pandemic concert world loves these intermission-less concerts, as do I) the upper strings played the rest of the concert standing up, as do some string quartets these days. It is a shame for the cellists though, for they can’t do that. (Of course, the bass is normally played standing up.)

The work: an arrangement of Shostakovich’s searing Eighth String Quartet, Op. 110, made by his friend and colleague Rudolf Barshai, violist of the Borodin String Quartet that premiered so many of Shostakovich’s works. This expansion has come to be known as the Chamber Symphony, Op. 110a (as with the Barber, adding the double bass to the four-part writing). The music is one of his most explicit uses of ciphers, the first letter of his first name and the first three of his last spelled musically: D-S (Es, E Flat)-C-H (B), to form the obsessively recurring theme. The composer referred to it as the “secret sign, the impenetrable wall.” Also present: the melody that Jews were made to sing as they were forced to dig their own graves before being shot and bulldozed into them during WWII (previously used in his own Piano Trio No. 2), and the famous “three knocks” on the door at 3 AM by the KGB.

All this was really well done by the group. Perhaps the church acoustics softened a bit of the “bite” in the more pointed material, but the “three knocks” emerged with disquieting clarity. The entire mood was captured convincingly, and when it was over, the hallmark of a truly great performance, people were hesitant to break the spell with applause.

The final work was a gem that I had never heard live before, only on recordings: Janáček’s Idyll: Suite for String Orchestra. Here, the Slavonic mode emerged, with many gestures reminiscent of Dvořák’s works, without undue copying. Moods alternate in the six brief sections from elegiac (“dumky”) to folkloric. The concert truly built to this moment, and the ensemble work was beautiful. Interplay among violin, viola, and cello was gently but specifically brought out. The bassist held his own, though one could have wished for more of the lower sonorities—the original calls for five basses (and eight first and second violins, and five cellos). Bravi!

So please folks, explore the culture in your own communities, and, in this season of giving, here is a worthy cause.