Edith Eisler | New York Concert Review, Inc.

Live from Lincoln Center/New York Philharmonic in Review

Alan Gilbert, conductor

Lang Lang, piano

New Year’s Eve Concert; December 31, 2010

Avery Fisher Hall, telecast on PBS

Lang Lang - Photo Credit: Detlef Schneider

Perhaps as a contribution to the ongoing diplomatic efforts at improving American-Russian relations, the New York Philharmonic’s Music Director Alan Gilbert chose an all-Tchaikovsky program for the Orchestra’s traditional New Year’s Eve concert. It featured a selection from three major genres of the composer’s work: the Polonaise from the opera “Eugene Onegin,” the second act of the ballet “The Nutcracker,” and the first Piano Concerto, with the brilliant, young Chinese pianist Lang Lang as soloist.

Seen on television, it was a wonderfully varied, exciting concert, a bonanza of beguiling melodies, exhilarating dances, exuberant orchestra playing, and superlative pianism. The musicians threw themselves into these repertory favorites with a freshness undimmed by familiarity. The Polonaise had a zestful swing; the “Nutcracker” dances were fascinating for their idiomatic, rhythmic and instrumental diversity. “Nutcracker,” the ballet, had been a ubiquitous presence throughout the Holidays, performed not only–as usual–at the State Theatre by the City Ballet, but also at the Brooklyn Academy by Ballet Theatre. Still, hearing that delightful music played by a great orchestra in full view on a concert stage instead of from a pit was grand.

The Tchaikovsky Concerto is one of Lang Lang’s signature pieces; he first performed it as a boy of 13. He himself feels that his interpretation has deepened his ability to listen to and interact with the orchestra grown more acute and spontaneous. At this performance, he certainly maintained a strong contact with the conductor and the orchestral soloists by looks, gestures, and, less visibly but no less perceptibly, by projecting and telegraphing his musical intentions. Indeed, his immersion in the music was so complete that one got the feeling he became one with it, letting it flow from his head and his heart to his fingertips. The most amazing aspect of his playing is not that he can generate incredible speeds without losing clarity, and huge volumes of sound without losing quality, but that all his excesses – physical, rhythmical, and emotional – are never a showman’s indulgences, but an expression of a genuine, spontaneous response to the music. True, his tempo changes are perhaps too frequent and too drastic, but he makes them sound totally natural. Of course, his liberties demand extraordinary cooperation and sensitivity from conductors and orchestras, but the musicians of the Philharmonic were right with him in fact and spirit. From her seat behind him, concertmistress Sheryl Staples watched him with obvious admiration, her face lighting up with a smile at every felicitous turn of phrase or change of expression. At the end, the ovations went on and on.

Lincoln Center’s live telecasts are its best gift to New Yorkers, especially since it’s housebound and infirm, and the Philharmonic broadcasts offer an extra bonus: the opportunity, denied regular concert goers, to get a frontal view of the conductor. Watching Alan Gilbert in action is a delight: swaying with the rhythm, his face wreathed in smiles, his enjoyment of the music and the gorgeous sounds produced by his players sheds a warm glow over both sides of the footlights.

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

Victoria Mushkatkol in Review

Victoria Mushkatkol, piano

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall

December 2, 2010

Presented by the Vladimir Nielsen Foundation.

Victoria Mushkaktol

Born and trained in Russia, pianist Victoria Mushkatkol graduated with highest honors from St. Petersburg Conservatory, where she was a protégé of the eminent teacher Vladimir Nielsen; now living in New York, she honored him by founding a piano festival in his name at Sag Harbor in 2007. She is enjoying an international career as soloist, chamber musician and teacher, and is currently on the faculty of the Juilliard School’s Pre-College Division.

Victoria Mushkatkol is a splendid pianist. Her command of the keyboard is complete; her technique is so relaxed and effortless that it is a pleasure to watch her in action. Perhaps the most immediately striking aspect of her playing is her tone: rich, warm and singing, with a perfectly smooth legato, it has a large palette of colors and nuances and a wide range of dynamics. Indeed, it seemed amazing that a person of her delicate stature could produce such a powerful, sonorous sound. Her stage presence is natural and unaffected; she projects total concentration and emotional identification with the music.

In this season commemorating several composers’ anniversaries, she celebrated Chopin before intermission (returning to him for her encore), and Liszt afterwards. Her strong affinity for romantic music was immediately clear. Her Chopin was free and flexible, but the tempo changes were balanced, the transitions poised. The A-flat major Ballade Op. 47 was full of dreamy poetry and passionate ardor; the Barcarolle Op. 60 rocked and lilted. In the B minor Sonata Op. 58, she brought out the character of each movement, carefully building up the dynamic and dramatic climaxes.

The second half of the program began with Schubert’s B-flat major Impromptu, Op. 142, No. 3, a set of variations on the “Rosamunde” theme that he loved to recycle. It is a study in tonal, textural and expressive contrasts whose mood and character changes Ms. Mushkatkol captured very effectively; her rhythmic liberties, though, seemed to hark back to Chopin’s style.

Schubert’s practice of writing variations on his own songs may have inspired Liszt to use them as launching-pads for the brilliant paraphrases favored by the piano virtuosos of his day. Ms. Mushkatkol selected four of these: “Aufenthalt,” “Gretchen am Spinnrade,” “Du bist die Ruh’,” and “Erlköng.” Based on some of Schubert’s most popular songs, they demonstrate Liszt’s skill in weaving the vocal line into the accompaniment. Naturally, this demands great technical and tonal control on the part of the pianist; for example, in “Gretchen am Spinnrade,” the sound of the spinning-wheel’s repetitious whirring must be maintained through all the verses; in “Erlkönig,” where even Schubert’s original piano part with its repeated octaves and chords is a test of endurance, Liszt created a tour-de-force that seems to require more than two hands and ten fingers.

Liszt’s “Rhapsodie Espagnole” with its brilliant writing and idiomatic Spanish rhythms made a rousing finish and elicited an ovation.

The audience included many children of various ages and nationalities, whose rapt attention marked them as budding pianists; from their floral tributes and warm hugs it was natural to surmise that they were paying homage to a beloved teacher.

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

Orchestra of St. Luke’s in Review

Christian Tetzlaff, Violinist and Leader

Carnegie Hall; New York, NY

October 28, 2010

Christian Tetzlaff

Christian Tetzlaff is a brilliant violinist with a scholarly mind and a passionate heart. His repertoire ranges from the baroque to the present, and he is equally at home in recitals, concertos and chamber music. In this concert, he demonstrated yet another facet of his versatility: as leader of an orchestra, both as concertmaster and soloist.

In the latter capacity, he presented Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 3 in G major K.216 (1775), and the Carnegie Hall premiere of Sibelius’ Suite for Violin and Strings, Op. 11 (1929). Standing in the middle of the orchestra facing the audience and playing from the score (which he certainly did not need), he did not really conduct, for, to these infinitely adaptable, protean players, following him seemed second nature. In the Mozart, he joined the first violins in the tuttis; playing with his usual clarity, charm, and expressiveness, his tone was pristinely beautiful throughout. He reserved his virtuosity for his own cadenzas, though his facility tempted him to adopt record-breaking tempos. The three Sibelius pieces are pleasant miniatures with bucolic titles: “Country Scenery,” “Evening in Spring,” and “In the Summer.” The first two are calm and pastoral, but the third is a Perpetuum mobile, played here at a speed beyond human ears. (Why should the summer be in such a hurry?) The only cavil about Tetzlaff’s performances was visual, not musical: his playing is so natural and effortless that it is a pleasure to watch, but his knee-bends, dips and gyrations are enough to induce sea-sickness.

For the rest of the program, he sat in the first chair, which limited his mobility somewhat but not entirely, and since the members of this orchestra also like to indulge in a good deal of physical activity, the stage looked like a sea of swaying bodies.

Schoenberg’s “Verklärte Nacht” Op. 4, written for string sextet in 1899 and orchestrated in 1943, was inspired by a poem by Richard Dehmel. It depicts a man and a woman walking through a moonlit forest, her anguished confession that, yearning for motherhood, she conceived another’s child before she met him, and his understanding, reassuring response. Schoenberg captured the glittering moonlight, the dark, despairing beginning and the radiant, hopeful end, as well as the intense, fraught human emotions, with shimmering, surging, super-romantic music. Its lush sonorities are well served by the orchestral version, but its contrapuntal complexity is clearer in the sextet. Moreover, in the chamber version all parts are equal, while the orchestra’s violas and cellos have to be split in half, tilting the balance in favor of the violins, which are naturally divided into two sections.

Tetzlaff led a luxurious-sounding, emotionally concentrated performance, keeping things together with some big gestures and a bit of discreet time-beating. Haydn’s Symphony No. 80 in D minor(1784) was distinguished by the expressiveness of the Adagio, the grace of the Menuetto, and the hectic tempo of the Finale, which brought the house down.

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

András Schiff & The Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson Trio in Review

András Schiff, piano

Carnegie Hall; New York, NY

October 26, 2010

The Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson Trio

Joseph Kalichstein, piano, Jaimie Laredo, violin, Sharon Robinson, cello

Michael Tree, viola, Anthony McGill, clarinet

Kaufman Auditorium, 92^nd Street Y

October 28, 2010

András Schiff

The 200^th birthdays of Robert Schumann and Fredéric Chopin are being celebrated this year in performances all over the world.

Two memorable Schumann programs were presented here recently. Pianist András Schiff likes to concentrate on a single composer and has frequently offered total immersions in the music of Bach, Beethoven, Schubert and others. So it was natural for him to devote his recent recital to four major compositions by Schumann, all sets of shorter pieces, the genre in which he excelled.

The program opened with the latest of the four works: “Waldszenen” (Forest Scenes) Op. 82 (1848-49). These nine character sketches, bearing poetic titles such as “Lonely Flowers,” “Friendly Landscape,” “Accursed Place,” fairly breathe the air of an enchanted forest; the most famous one is “Prophet Bird,” whose light, tonally ambiguous downward arpeggios really suggest a bird in flight. Schiff underlined the delicacy, pastel shades and changing moods of these elusive pieces; as always, his tone was uniquely beautiful and his control of dynamics (mostly subdued) and color were remarkable.

In another intimate, introspective set, “Kinderszenen” (Scenes from Childhood) Op. 15 (1838), Schumann depicts the activities and emotions of children – probably observed in his own family – with remarkable empathy. “Träumerei” (Dreaming) has become so popular that it has been subjected to innumerable transcriptions, many unfortunately ill-suited to its innocent simplicity.

The program’s other two works, “Davidsbündlertänze” Op. 6 (1837) and “Symphonic Etudes” Op. 13 (1834-37, rev. 1852), are more substantial in scope and content. Both invoke creatures of Schumann’s imagination, notably his alter egos, the introspective Eusebius and the fiery Florestan. In addition, there is the League of David, who, like their Biblical models, are united in their fight against the (musical) Philistines. Schiff brought out the character of the different dances in the “Davidsbündler” (where, contrary to his usual custom, he did not observe the repeats and omitted two numbers), and all the mercurial moods of the “Etudes,” from the dark somberness of the Theme to the ebullience of the Finale.

Never one to stint on encores, he rewarded the audience’s enthusiasm with the entire “Papillions” (with repeats) and the Finale of the C-major Fantasie.

Chamber Music at the Y, founded and directed by Jaimie Laredo, violinist of the KLR Trio, its resident artists, is devoting this entire season to Schumann, but combining his works with those of his friends and contemporaries. At the first concert, the guest composer was Brahms, whose Trio for clarinet, cello and piano was flanked by three works by Schumann. The Trio’s guest artists were Michael Tree, violist of the now unfortunately retired Guarneri Quartet, and Anthony McGill, the spectacular new principal clarinetist of the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra.

Kalichstein-Laredo-Robinson Trio

The concert was a most auspicious opening of the Y’s season. Kalichstein, who played every piece on the program, was, as always, a superb partner; he adjusted his style and beautiful, singing tone to each instrumental (and personal) combination in close rapport, and, despite the open piano, was never too loud. In the “Fantasy Pieces” Op. 73 for clarinet and piano (1849), McGill brought out the widely different character of the three pieces, displaying an extraordinary variety of color and nuance; his musical projection was so strong and genuine that his excessive body-language was an unnecessary distraction.

By contrast, Tree’s playing of the “Fairy Tale Pictures” Op. 113 (1851) was a model of dignity and inward expressiveness. These four pieces are less idiomatic to the instrument than the Fantasy Pieces; the viola’s low register and relatively subdued sound are easily overpowered by the heavy piano part, especially in the two middle pieces, no matter how careful and discreet the pianist tries to be. Tree and Kalichstein achieved an unusually good balance, but the two slow corner pieces still came off best: the first, with its closely interwoven voices, was an intimate conversation; the last was a deeply moving, pensive, resigned song of farewell. After over 30 years of partnering string players, Kalichstein’s ability to match the viola sound was uncanny.

We owe the Brahms Clarinet Trio Op.114 (1891) to the great clarinetist Richard Mühlfeld. Brahms, though not yet 60 years old, had decided to stop composing in 1890, but when he met Mühlfeld a year later, he was so impressed with his artistry that he was inspired to write four works for him: a trio, a quintet, and two sonatas. All are suffused with an autumnal, nostalgic mellowness, as if the setting sun were casting its last golden glow over the landscape. In these mature masterpieces, Brahms was at the peak of his compositional mastery; the Trio is a perfect blend of almost soloistic rhetoric and close ensemble. The performance was beautiful, austere but warm, unanimous and deeply felt; the three players projected their love of the music and their pleasure in one another’s company from first note to last.

The program closed with Schumann’s Piano Quartet Op. 47 (1842). At 32, Schumann, in his own words, was also “at the height of his powers.” Indeed, the Quartet’s concision, its combination of structural discipline and poetic romanticism, give it an air of sanguine self-confidence that makes it special among Schumann’s works. Every instrument gets its share of solo passages; the players reveled in the luscious melodies without becoming sentimental, and in the brilliant passages without upstaging one another. The concert was a total joy.

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

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.

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

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.

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

Korbinian Altenberger & Andrius Zlabys in Review

Korbinian Altenberger, violin

Andrius Zlabys, piano

Merkin Concert Hall

November 4, 2010

Korbinian Altenberger

Though these two young players have already performed in recital and with major orchestras world-wide, this concert marked their New York recital debut. They hold degrees from some of the most prestigious conservatories, and have won an astonishing number of international prizes, including the one offered by their presenters, Astral Artists.

Their program showed that they are not only excellent players, but also serious, genuine musicians. It consisted of four Beethoven Sonatas: Number 3 in E-flat major, Op.12, No.3; Number 4 in A minor, Op.23; Number 8 in G major, Op.30, No.3; and Number 10 in G major, Op.96. A more challenging calling card can hardly be imagined. Playing Beethoven really well requires as much virtuosity as the most dazzling fireworks, but only as a means for musical ends, not for external effect or to impress the audience.

Altenberger and Zlabys rose to these demands admirably. Their technique was brilliant, but so effortless and unobtrusive that one forgot about it. Altenberger’s tone, though not big, was pure and focused, and he could vary it with bow and vibrato. He seemed intent on preserving Beethoven’s original slurs, which, indicating phrasing rather than bowing, are often too long to be practical; this created problems of balance, especially in the slow movements. The transitions were poised, the phrasing was elegant, the rhythm steady but flexible. Dynamics were carefully observed, but accents, even in many soft passages, were often surprisingly explosive. Tempos were judicious; though both could generate plenty of speed, it was never in order to display their facility.

Of the program’s four Sonatas, the three early ones are youthfully vigorous, exuberant, and brilliant; the late one is among Beethoven’s most intimate, introspective works. The two players had obviously given much thought to these differences in character and found ways to bring them out. In the third Sonata, the writing is far more pianistic than violinistic. The first movement bristles with so many running passages that it has been called the “Zipper” Sonata: after chasing each other in imitation, the two instruments run together in thirds, a risky operation that came off perfectly. The eighth Sonata is another virtuoso piece for both instruments, but the writing is more democratic, requiring even closer teamwork as the instruments trade, take over and build on each other’s melodies. Beethoven is at his most humorous in the Finale, often described as a dance for a Russian bear; the players relished the fun.

In the fourth Sonata, which foreshadows the “Kreutzer” Sonata in its tonality and its drama, the players captured the driving tension of the corner movements and the whimsical charm of the Andante scherzoso.

In his final, tenth Sonata, Beethoven was in full command of the medium and had reached the sublime serenity of his later years. The texture is more transparent and complex, the interplay between the instruments more intricate, the moods more elusive and mercurial. The performers met this test in ensemble playing with sensitive give-and-take, unanimity of expression, and mutual supportiveness.

The recital’s only flaw was the balance between the instruments, though the players went to great pains to accommodate each other. Merkin Hall is well suited to intimate chamber music, but the piano is too big for the moderate space. Unfortunatly, Zablys, though a fine pianist and exemplary partner, kept it wide open, and his first chord in the first Sonata signaled that Altenberger, with his refined, inward style, would have to struggle to be heard. Nevertheless, this was one of the most impressive debuts of recent years.

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

New York Repertory Orchestra in Review

New York Repertory Orchestra

David Leibowitz, Music Director/Conductor

Olivier Fluchaire, violin

Church of St. Mary the Virgin, New York, NY

October 23, 2010

Olivier Fluchaire

Described as New York’s leading community orchestra, the New York Repertory Orchestra consists of professional and amateur musicians. They come together for the joy of making music, which they share by performing “provocative programs” at the highest possible level. And they certainly have a lot of fans: at this concert, the church was filled with appreciative, enthusiastic, obviously regular listeners, who greeted one another, and the players, like old friends.

The Orchestra was founded in 1991 by its Music Director, David Leibowitz, who has conducted operas, ballets and concerts world-wide; he also teaches at various prestigious colleges, universities and summer institutes. As he proved on this occasion, he is not only an excellent conductor, but also an inspiring leader.

The program was adventurous and ambitious, and consisted of rarely played works – a wise choice in a city so full of concerts. It opened with the Concerto for Small Orchestra Op. 34 by Albert Roussel (1869-1937), written in 1927. The first movement is lively, energetic, and quite dissonant; the second is slow, somber and languid, featuring long, sustained chords in the woodwinds; the third is a marathon run of fast notes in perpetual motion. The orchestration is colorful and inventive.

The Roussel was followed by Astor Piazzolla’s “Four Seasons of Buenos Aires,” arranged by Leonid Desyatnikov and Gidon Kremer for violin and string orchestra, with the French-born violinist Olivier Fluchaire as soloist. After winning his first competition at age eleven, Fluchaire studied with Yehudi Menuhin at his London School and concertized throughout Europe; he came to New York, where he now lives, in 1992, and studied with Daniel Phillips and Patinka Kopec. He is active as soloist and chamber musician, and also teaches at several colleges, including Hunter College and the City University. A spectacular virtuoso, he played with effortless brilliance, unbridled passion, and a remarkable flair for Piazzolla’s rhythmic and melodic idiom. Due to the acoustics, the orchestra sometimes covered him, but the pieces’ many unaccompanied cadenzas showed his sonorous, intense, variable tone to fine advantage. He warmly acknowledged Principal Cellist Shanda Wooley, who stood out in a substantial solo.

The program concluded with the Symphony No. 4, Op. 29 by the Danish composer Carl Nielsen (1865-1931). Written in 1914, it reflects his horror at the outbreak of World War I, and expresses his belief that “even if all things were destroyed or dead, nature would begin to breed new life again.” He called it “The Inextinguishable” because “music is life, and like life, inextinguishable.” The Symphony has four contrasting, connected movements; the music fluctuates between outbursts of chaotic frenzy played by full orchestra, and serene, almost cheerful melodies played by groups of solo instruments; at times it disintegrates, then revives with renewed energy; it ends in triumphant affirmation.

The Church of St. Mary the Virgin is spacious and beautiful, but, like many large churches, has extremely reverberant acoustics; as a result, it was impossible to hear separate strands of melody or changes of harmony. (The players, too, must have had trouble hearing themselves and each other.) Only the wind instruments’ different timbres could be easily distinguished. The echoes also acted as amplification, especially when the music was loud. For example, Nielsen employs two sets of timpani, one on each side; at full throttle, they sounded ear-splitting and obliterated everything else.

These circumstances made it very difficult to get a sense of the quality of the Orchestra’s sound and ensemble, though the solo wind players were clearly outstanding. But there was never a doubt of the participants’ enthusiasm and total commitment both to the music and the joint enterprise. The heart-warming air of good fellowship and mutual supportiveness contributed mightily to the success of the concert and the bond between performers and listeners.

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

The Gemini Piano Trio in Review

The Gemini Piano Trio

Hsiu-Hui Wang, piano, Sheng-Tsung Wang, violin, Benjamin Myers, cello

Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall, New York, NY

October 16, 2010

The Gemini Trio

This group is a true family affair: the pianist is the sister of the violinist and the wife of the cellist. No wonder they have achieved such a high level of unanimity and rapport. But of course, though personal kinship can help, it also requires hard work and dedication to forge a fine ensemble and make it sound totally natural.

The Gemini Trio is on the faculty of Maryland’s Goucher College in Baltimore and Howard Community College in Columbia. The members are all active, successful soloists; individually, they hold degrees from the Hartt School of Music, the University of Maryland, Peabody Conservatory, and the New England Conservatory. As a group, they have taken top prizes in many prestigious competitions, performed on several continents, and released two CDs of trios by Brahms, Ravel, Ives, and Shostakovich. This concert marked the Trio’s New York debut.

The program demonstrated the players’ stylistic versatility, featuring masterpieces from three periods: Beethoven’s Trio Op.1 No.1, Shostakovich’s Trio No.2 and Mendelssohn’s Trio No.2. The Beethoven was a model of classical elegance and restraint; phrasing, articulation and dynamics were carefully observed, balance and interplay between the instruments were exemplary. In the Shostakovich, the players allowed themselves more dynamic and emotional abandon without lapsing into excess; the Scherzo was very fast and impetuous but always controlled; the slow movement was heart-breaking. The Mendelssohn was unabashedly romantic: quite free, intense, and ardent. The corner movements were stormy and passionate, the Scherzo was spooky but almost too fast and whispery for human ears to follow, the slow movement was serene and poetic. The phrasing sometimes seemed a bit overdone and lopsided, and there was perhaps an over-abundance of slides. But the playing was always honestly felt and very expressive.

Best of all, the players were concerned only with the music, and used their technical command and tonal variety entirely in its service. They did nothing for effect, never exaggerated, never called attention to themselves, never showed off. The pianist’s pedal technique was remarkable: she seemed to change pedal with every note even in the fastest passages. Moreover, except for the most massive chords, she kept her left foot on the soft pedal, even in her solo passages, so there was no break in the sound quality. As a result, the piano, though wide open, never covered the strings; indeed, it was often too subdued. Altogether, this was a most enjoyable evening of true, unaffected music-making.

Though the printed program requested that the applause be held until after the final movement of each work, the sell-out audience could not restrain itself and showed its enthusiasm after every movement, causing the players to look startled at first, then to smile with amused resignation. To remove the temptation for an outburst after the ghostly Mendelssohn Scherzo, they plunged right into the last movement. After the final ovation, they responded with an encore: a trio arrangement of Elgar’s “Chant d’amour.”

by Edith Eisler 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.

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