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

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

Diana Damrau’s Versatility includes Acrobatics

January 23, 2010 at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

The German soprano Diana Damrau recently sang eight songs by Richard Strauss, and Zerbinetta’s aria from his opera “Ariadne auf Naxos” with the MET Orchestra under James Levine. Her voice is ravishingly beautiful, with enough power to cut through and sail above the orchestra, clearly showing her operatic roots, yet capable of drawing listeners into the soft, intimate songs with a wonderfully floating quality. But it was her coloratura that left the audience gasping in disbelief. Her last song, “Amor” – unfamiliar for good reason – was a tour de force of trills, roulades and other acrobatics. The aria, one of the most spectacular display pieces in all opera, was dazzling; she acted it out with humorous, ironic gestures and facial expressions, tossing off the fireworks with incredible brilliance. It brought the house down, so she repeated the last section; but this time, she stood cheek to cheek with Levine, one foot on his podium, both mugging with gleeful abandon and having a wonderful time.

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

Rira Lim, pianist

Rira Lim, piano
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, New York
October 25, 2009

Born in South Korea, Rira Lim began playing the piano at age four, and at age 14 made her orchestral debut in her native Gwangju. After graduating from Yonsei University in Seoul, she continued her studies at the University of Texas, earning Master and Doctor degrees. She has performed in solo and chamber music in Asia and Europe, and won prizes in several international competitions.

For this recital. Ms. Lim chose an ambitious, unusual program. Even the apparently conventional opening selection was presented in an unfamiliar form: three Scarlatti Sonatas in a “transcription” for piano by Granados, with octaves, thirds, sixths, and “modern” harmonies added to make them more effective and appealing to pianists. More Granados than Scarlatti, they immediately heralded Ms. Lim’s virtuosity and wide dynamic range. Her tone was flawed only by some harshness at full volume, and a tendency to underplay her left hand; she seemed more comfortable with big chords than singing legato lines.

Barber called his Nocturne “Homage to John Fields,” but, as if reflected in a distorting mirror, its romanticism is obscured by atonal and chromatic dissonances. In Barber’s last piano piece, Ballade, written for the Van Cliburn Competition, Ms. Lim moved easily between the different moods, tempos and dynamics.

Malipiero’s four Preludi autumnali, written in 1914, are impressionistic pieces tinged with the somberness of the onset of war. The first two are all florid embellishment, the third is mournful, the fourth is sardonic and agitated. Ms. Lim brought out all these contrasting characteristics admirably.

The program’s piéce de resistance was Liszt’s Sonata, one of the repertoire’s most formidable works. In four continuous movements, it demands not only utmost virtuosity, but utmost physical and mental endurance. The slender young pianist negotiated its crashing chords, fortissimo double octave passages, cascading runs and arpeggios with untiring energy, and still had enough strength left to reward a standing ovation with a hefty encore by William Bolcom.

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

Thomas Schultz, Piano

Thomas Schultz, piano
Weill Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
October 23, 2009

The announcement of pianist Thomas Schultz’s October New York recital stirred high hopes, as his outstanding 2006 performance had this reviewer waxing rhapsodic. Those hopes were met in some regards, but less so in others.

The first surprise came in the programming itself. Known for his adventurous mix of old and new and a keen sense of musical chemistry between works, on this occasion Mr. Schultz presented only two works, both in the mainstream literature and neither lacking a distinguished performance history; Schubert’s Sonata in B-flat, D.960,
was the first half, and the Brahms Variations and Fugue on a Theme of Handel, Op. 24, was the second. While there is a fine line between a specialty and a pigeonhole, Mr. Schultz’s less well-known 20th century works had been a huge plus in the prior program; Brahms and Schubert, on the other hand, set the recital up for comparison with numerous of the world’s greatest performances, and, on this particular evening he did not fare as well as one had hoped.

In his favor, Mr. Schultz exhibited in the Schubert the same genuine feeling and penchant for subtle, soft playing that this listener admired several years ago; unfortunately, though, the balance between registers was not quite controlled, and the melody, even in the beginning, was overwhelmed by accompaniment (lovely though it was). What seemed a style of intimacy a few years ago here seemed more a lack of projection. What had impressed as a patient, long-breathed style seemed here to need more differentiation (e.g., the left hand G octaves that punctuate the last movement, which were almost lackluster).

The Brahms Op. 24 faced similar issues, with the additional technical challenges that sometimes seemed to slow things down. One especially missed the surges in the twenty-third variation, building to the climax in the twenty-fifth that unleashes the Fugue.

Through it all, there were great moments and many glimmers of insight, but to bring the music to the audience Mr. Schultz might need to step outside the tonal world he seems to have internalized so well and project more.

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by Rorianne Schrade  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Orrett Rhoden, Piano

Orrett Rhoden, piano
Zankel Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY
October 15, 2009

Sometimes an encore can leave a more marked impression on an audience than the program itself, and such was the case with Jamaican pianist Orrett Rhoden’s transcription of the Bob Marley song, “One Love.” A reggae-meets-Liszt fusion of his homeland’s music with his own Romantic pianism, it exemplified Mr. Rhoden’s charismatic and communicative gifts. Indeed, these gifts were present throughout the recital, but there were some issues that detracted.

While some of the liberties Mr. Rhoden took may be chalked up to interpretive license, many of them were too much for this listener. Especially in the Sonata, Op. 53 of Beethoven (“Waldstein”) and Schumann’s Etudes Symphoniques, Op. 13, there were myriad grand ritardandi, puzzling tempo changes, dramatic bursts (where more measured dynamics were called for), and changed or added notes that did not enhance the score. While these “personal touches” may be preferable to having no reactions to the score whatsoever (an all too common occurrence), too many of them can distort the music. As just a few examples, in Schumann’s Etude II, grace notes were added in the wrong places and a gratuitous final C-sharp spoiled its character; moreover, the first and second endings of Variation XI had a different bass line than what is written (accentuated, to boot). One could be impressed at times that Mr. Rhoden simply follows his own drummer, as in Etude X, where his added left hand octaves hearkened back to some Romantic piano greats; unfortunately, though, some of these “liberties” must be considered errors, such as in the Finale where the last sixteenths of many measures were changed to eighths, completely changing the rhythmic energy.

The balance of the program included two Scarlatti Sonatas in A Major (L. 483 and 345),

Granados “Allegro de Concierto,” and Chopin’s Scherzo No. 2 in B-flat minor. While in the Granados, one missed the serene mastery of the recently departed Alicia de Larrocha, Rhoden’s characteristic freedom and cantabile phrasing brought some great moments to the Chopin. An encore, the Allemande from Bach’s French Suite in G Major, was followed by the Marley, which brought the house down.

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by Rorianne Schrade  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY

Stanislav Khristenko, Piano

Stanislav Khristenko, piano
October 15, 2009
Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

Stanislav Khristenko, a Ukrainian pianist and first prize winner of the Virginia Waring international piano competition, made his New York recital debut recently in a thoughtful, focused, and ultimately successful concert at Weill Recital Hall.  The pianist revealed deep reserves of artistry and professionalism as the evening progressed, saving his most incisive and colorful playing for the program-ender, five short pieces by Prokofiev.

There was an unusual sense of risk in the pianist’s choice of the Shostakovich first sonata, op. 12 to begin the program. As Mr. Khristenko was acclimatizing himself to his instrument and the hall during this sonata, he did not make a thoroughly convincing argument for this work’s value.  His talent and technique were in evidence immediately, but he pushed the tempo and over pedaled in scale passages where more clarity would have been appreciated.  While I respect the challenge, this composition would be easier to play and hear in a later spot on the program.

In Schubert’s Sonata, d. 958, the pianist again took time to find the right approach to this work, both technically and interpretively.  The Steinway at Weill hall is weak in the middle register, and I could hear Mr. Khristenko struggling to produce a singing tone in the first movement without forcing the sound.  His voicing was bass heavy initially and his rubato a little stiff until he hit his stride in the final two movements.  Most especially, the tarantella was a delight–alive rhythmically, yet relaxed, sounding simultaneously Schubertian and Italianate.

By the second movement of the Schumann C Major Fantasy, which began the second half, Mr. Khristenko was in full control of all his resources and played with a maturity that belied his young age.  The performance was organic from beginning to end, and one of the best I have heard of this difficult work.  With the briefest of pauses, the pianist then launched headlong into the Prokofiev.

In these five excerpts from ten pieces, op. 12, Mr. Khristenko was completely in his métier.  Each selection sparkled like a gem, honed to perfection.  These would have been impressive performances from any artist, but they were all the more joyful from a pianist at the outset of his career.

Mr. Khristenko has the poise and intellect of a seasoned performer.  Despite the fact that all his programming choices were not ideally suited to his temperament, I applaud his appetite for adventure and discovery.

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by David La Marche  for New York Concert Review; New York, NY