“Hamlet” by Ambroise Thomas-Metropolitan Opera

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Songs by Les Six

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

Marcia Eckert

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

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

Helen Gabrielsen

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

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

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

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

New York Philharmonic

New York Philharmonic
Shanghai Symphony Orchestra
Central Park’s Great Lawn; New York
July 13, 2010
 
The Shanghai Symphony

The Shanghai Symphony Photo Credit by Chris Lee

 
 

In an outdoor concert threatened by rain, a New York Philharmonic Parks Concert featuring The Shanghai Symphony Orchestra went on as scheduled and drew thousands of New Yorkers. This important occasion marks the first time that another orchestra has shared a concert with the Philharmonic in Central Park. The Shanghai Symphony Orchestra, in an appearance that is helping to promote the World Expo in Shanghai, played the first half—(a reverse of the original plan because of the bad weather)—and played very well indeed. Certainly, the amplification has the ability to hide tonal deficiencies, but microphones cannot hide wrong notes, and there were hardly any blemishes to be found. In addition, the musicians played with immense energy under passionate conductor Long Yu.

Guang Zhao’s composition, “Ode to the Expo”, is a lovely, lush, Neo-Romantic work that served as a crowd-pleaser. The baritone Changyong Liao, singing Rossini’s “Largo al factotum della citta” from “The Barber of Seville”, was absolutely marvelous, and soprano Ying Huang was very appealing in “La ci darem la mano” from “Don Giovanni”. The Chinese piano soloist, Lang Lang–now a household name–transformed Gershwin’s famous “Rhapsody in Blue” into something rather foreign; I could hardly recognize the piece due to extreme exaggerations of tempo and dynamics. All in all, however, this New York Philharmonic venture—adding another orchestra to a concert—is a great idea and should be continued as much as possible. The large audience sprawled across the Great Lawn seemed excited; they even voted (via texting) for Lang Lang to play a Chinese piece as an encore.

The second half brought the New York Philharmonic to the stage, and one could instantly recognize the difference in the wind and brass brilliance and solidity of sound. There was more strength and tonal refinement in the strings as well. The guest conductor, Andrey Boreyko, conducted Tchaikovsky’s “Eugene Onegin” Polonaise with vigor, and the orchestra played with authority and finesse. Bernstein’s “West Side Story Dances” was another matter, however; because the Philharmonic knew the piece so much better than Maestro Boreyko (he seemed like he had never conducted it), he often stayed out of the way. That is good stylistically (the feel of the work came across authentically), but bad for ensemble because the orchestra needed technical clarity from Boreyko’s beat in tricky spots and didn’t get it. As a result, the orchestra was sometimes imprecise. Ravel’s “Bolero” suffered from early amplification issues such as microphone interference with squeaky high frequencies and warped dynamics. Eventually the problems subsided, but the orchestra lost its focus and went on automatic pilot—despite some fantastic solo playing. Because there were two orchestras and several soloists, there were many logistical issues to deal with. Ultimately, the Philharmonic and another guest orchestra could learn to maneuver through the obstacles. This type of concert is expensive and difficult, but a very worthwhile endeavor because—as many of us know—it has the power to bring people together.

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

New York Philharmonic

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

 

Alan Gilbert

Alan Gilbert

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New York Philharmonic

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

Hakan Hardenberger

Håkan Hardenberger

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Live from the MET: Simone Boccanegra

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

Placido Domingo - Photo Credit Brent Ness -

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

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

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

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

  

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

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

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

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

Long Island Philharmonic

David Stewart Wiley, conductor
Joseph Kalichstein, piano
Tilles Center for the Performing Arts, New York
June 19, 2010
Long Island Philharmonic

Long Island Philharmonic

The Long Island Philharmonic has had four Music Directors since its founding in 1979, but none of them has been as effective at communicating intimate, nuanced music with the audience as David Stewart Wiley. Its Music Director for almost ten years, Mr. Wiley enjoys speaking to the audience before many of the pieces the orchestra performs, and those in attendance clearly enjoy it, benefitting from musical examples that accompany that talk because they get a preview—much like a movie trailer—and know what details to listen for. And the Long Island audience needs this added familiarity more than in a major city, where a Mozart symphony isn’t exactly a foreign affair.

Before the performance of Mozart’s Symphony No. 39, Wiley interestingly noted that the first movement may be the first time the waltz (opposed to the Minuet) was incorporated into a symphony. He also rightly mentions the countryside, folk aspect to the symphony as a whole. And that inspires an analogy: Mozart brings the countryside to the symphony, and the Long Island Philharmonic brings the symphony to the countryside, enriching the musical experiences of thousands of Long Islanders, who do not have to leave the suburbs in order to hear great music—or great music-making. Perhaps—quite fittingly—the suburbs of Long Island are the perfect place to hear intimate music.

The performance of the 39th Symphony was indeed given a polished, sparkling and elegant account. The sound of the orchestra is in terrific shape, with special mention going to the solo clarinet and the French Horns for handling difficult moments with effortlessness and beauty. In Beethoven’s Fourth Piano Concerto, excellent pianist Joseph Kalichstein, who often modestly collaborated like he was one of many solo instruments within the orchestra rather than the main soloist, nonetheless gave the kind of briskly-paced performances—in the outer movements—that didn’t always mesh with the ensemble behind him. Still, it was impressively played on both technical and musical fronts, with the slow movement the undeniable highlight, as its darkly solemn and sublime moments were performed with tremendous conviction.

In Bartok’s Romanian Dances, which opened the program, the clarinet solos were playfully and endearingly shaped. The Piccolo solo was played with great sensitivity, creating the character of a wandering, lost soul. Wiley set the mood before each dance and achieved deeply committed performances from the players. The first violin section played with unity of movement—often using their bows fully, from the lower part of the bow (the ‘frog’) to the very tip, which can be a rarity for orchestras.

The intimate musical repertory the Long Island Philharmonic explores is sorely needed, as many orchestras concentrate on the more ostentatiously grand symphonic music and stay away from the more delicate gems. Yet Long Island audiences appreciate the nuances of this delightful music because David Stewart Wiley allows his audiences to savor it all—during the performance, but also before it.

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

Continuum: Spotlight on Georgia

Continuum: Spotlight on Georgia
Merkin Concert Hall, New York, NY
May 9, 2010

Continuum, now in its 44th season under the direction of founders Cheryl Seltzer and Joel Sachs, appears to be more vital than ever. A recent program focusing on new works by composers from the Republic of Georgia underscored this impression. We heard four U.S Premieres and a World Premiere by composers we might otherwise encounter only in piecemeal fashion, if at all (with Giya Kancheli being the possible exception), all tied together in memorable and meaningful ways, including informative notes and the opportunity to hear two of the composers speak. Incidentally the only work that was not a premiere was Kancheli’s Psalm 23 from “Exile,” a work that Continuum premiered in the 1990’s.

The program opened with Four Quartet Miniatures (1947-1978) by Sulkhan Tsintsadze (1925-1991), the only deceased composer of the five presented. Including “Lale” (1947), “Shepherd’s Dance” (1951), “Didavoi Nana” (1978) and “Khorumi” (1978), the folk-like string quartet selections reminded one of Bartok, but with a lyricism that is perhaps uniquely Georgian. They established beautifully the “roots” of the Georgian program, and Renée Jolles, Airi Yoshioka, Stephanie Griffin, and Kristina Reiko Cooper played with both polish and affection.

Ms. Griffin returned to the stage to play “Cadenza” (2007), a study in duality for solo viola by Zurab Nadareishvili (b.1957). The work juxtaposes shades of Berg’s “Wozzeck” in the upper register against an earthy folk bass, sometimes in rapid alternation – quite a tour de force. Griffin was more than up to the challenges, technically and emotionally.

Psalm 23 from “Exile” (1994) by Giya Kancheli (b. 1935) closed the first half with expanded forces including Mary Mackenzie (soprano), Ulla Suokko (flute), and Paul Sharp (double bass), along with Griffin, Cooper, Seltzer (synthesizer and tape), and Sachs conducting. A haunting setting of the famous Biblical text “The Lord is my shepherd”, it uses tonality in what the program notes aptly describe as “a fresh expression of timeless values.” Otherworldly combinations of taped and live music created a mystical feeling, such that one hardly paid attention to the fine playing of individual performers, who served the music as one.

Josef Bardanashvili (b. 1948), who had traveled from Israel to hear his pieces and speak after intermission, was as exuberant in his speaking personality as he emerged in his music. His “Sola” for guitar (2006), a fascinating work, ran the gamut from Bachian beginnings to a range of contemporary outpourings that never felt incongruous within the improvisatory flow of it all. Oren Fader was the excellent guitarist. Hana Ajiashvili, the other composer who had flown in from Israel, suggested connections between Georgian improvisation and polyphony and her own music (with its indeterminate elements and complex textures), but reflected an international style in “My God, the Soul You Placed Within Me” (2007). Perhaps the thorniest work of the evening, it employed difficult atonal writing and strident clusters suggesting the texts of three very dark poems by Yehuda Amichai. The effect, captured well by Mackenzie, Jolles, Bryant, Seltzer, and clarinetist Moran Katz, was wildly expressive.

The evening closed with one more work by Bardanashvili, the World Premiere of his “Farewell Song – In Memory of My Parents” (2008) for solo clarinet (Katz, playing the part written for Giora Feidman) and solo cello (Cooper), with strings conducted by Joel Sachs. Ms. Katz, a force of nature (who also translated from Hebrew for Mr. Bardanashvili), played three clarinets brilliantly: standard, piccolo, and bass clarinets. Her dynamic and timbral ranges, complemented wonderfully by Ms. Cooper’s luscious cello sound, brought intense expressivity to this profoundly sad work. All in all, it was an enlightening evening that whetted the appetite to know more Georgian music.

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

New York Concert Review Round-Up for 2009-10

New York Concert Review Round-Up for 2009-10

Even the best-intentioned reporter cannot cover all the concerts of the New York season. Here are some highlights that got left behind

Two violinists presented spectacular recitals: Joshua Bell with his frequent partner Jeremy Denk, and Augustin Hadelich with the esteemed collaborative artist Rohan De Silva. Hadelich, making his New York debut, played in the Frick Collection’s intimate auditorium; Bell played in Carnegie Hall, whose size hardly suited his program of sonatas by Bach, Saint-Saëns, Schumann and Ravel. But his brilliant technique and glorious, intense tone came through, as did his elegance, romantic ardor, and passionate involvement. Hadelich, winner of the 2006 Indianapolis Violin Competition, is every inch a virtuoso. He reveled in the fireworks of Ysaÿe’s “Ballade” and Saraste’s “Carmen Fantasy,” and filled Prokofiev’s second Sonata with sunshine and charm.

The American String Quartet played Beethoven’s daunting Op. 127 with admirable technical and tonal control, poise and expressiveness. With violist Michael Tree, Brahms’ G major Quintet sounded rich, romantic and exuberant; the Finale had true Gypsy abandon. The Orion Quartet also performed Brahms in G-major (the Sextet, with violist Hsin-Yun Huang and cellist Barbara Mallow), along with Beethoven, Bartók, Mozart and Smetana. Perhaps influenced by the prevailing fashion, they have been over-projecting recently, but their playing is always deeply felt and beautiful.

The Tokyo Quartet continued its Beethoven cycle with a warm, serene performance of Op. 59 No. 2, notable for the seamless continuity of its lines. Formed 20 years ago, the Leipzig Quartet displayed remarkable transparency in Haydn’s “Sunrise” Quartet; wrenching grief in Mendelssohn’s F-minor Quartet; longing and passion in Janácek’s “Intimate Letters.” The Panocha Quartet, founded in 1968 at the Prague Conservatory, is distinguished by its limpid tone, simplicity, and unaffected eloquence. An early Mozart Quartet was lovely; Martinu’s cheerful No. 7 (1947) incorporated both his native Czech and jazzy American idioms. In Dvorák’s great Op. 106, the players relished the luscious melodies and spiky Slavic rhythms while weaving a tapestry of independent voices.

Festival Chamber Music, a rotating group of freelance musicians, presented an unusual program in delightful performances: Milhaud’s humorous Suite for clarinet, violin and piano; Beethoven’s lyrical, exuberant Trio for clarinet, cello and piano Op. 38, transcribed from his Septet; songs by Amy Beach with violin and cello obbligatos, and Schubert’s “Shepherd on the Rock.” Cellist/director Ruth Sommers, violinist Theodore Arm and soprano Amy Cofield Williamson were excellent; pianist Hélène Jeanney and clarinetist Charles Neidich, the program’s busiest participants, captured the music’s diverse moods and styles with soloistic brilliance and collaborative sensitivity.

To celebrate his 85th birthday, Pierre Boulez conducted the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in two concerts featuring Béla Bartók: the Concerto for two pianos and percussion, splendidly performed by Pierre–Laurent Aimard and Tamara Stefanovich, and “Bluebeard’s Castle,” sung with mesmerizing impact (in Hungarian) by Michelle DeYoung and Falk Struckmann. The orchestra’s principal flutist Mathieu Dufour played Marc-André Dalbavie’s Concerto brilliantly; the orchestra showed its virtuosity and wonderful sound in works by Ravel, Boulez, and Stravinsky’s “Firebird.”

Boulez shared conducting duties with Daniel Barenboim when Carnegie Hall invited the Vienna Philharmonic to open its season with three concerts. The orchestra sounded glorious; intonation and balance were perfect; the playing was rich and homogeneous, yet clear. Except for two Beethoven symphonies, the programs departed from the orchestra’s usual fare with substantial works by Schoenberg, Webern and Boulez. In the first concert, Barenboim’s “Pastoral” Symphony was expansively lyrical; juxtaposing the lush, sensuous finale of Wagner’s “Tristan” with Schoenberg’s Variations demonstrated the birth of a new style from the ashes of the old one. A noisy exodus of disgruntled listeners midway caused Barenboim to announce an encore “for those who stayed” – a fast and furious Johann Strauss Polka.

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

Gergiev and Berlioz at Carnegie

Gergiev and Berlioz at Carnegie

Valery Gergiev is a ubiquitous musical presence, seemingly able to conduct operas and concerts on several continents simultaneously. Director of the St. Petersburg Mariinsky Theatre since 1988, he is touring North America with its orchestra, chorus and soloists; they stopped off in New York’s Carnegie Hall for three concerts devoted to two Gergiev specialties by Hector Berlioz: the Dramatic Symphony Romeo et Juliette and the opera Les Troyens. The performances were simply magnificent; no wonder he is among today’s busiest, most sought-after conductors. The chorus, in the grand Russian tradition, is superb; its members can emerge as soloists even without stepping forward. The orchestra is equally fine; the strings have the dark, warm sound of the best European groups, the winds are splendid. Love scenes were enhanced by beguiling clarinet obbligatos; the oboe added mournful poignancy to the tragic moments; mellow horns led the hunt, brilliant trumpets the triumphal marches.

The musicians played their hearts out, and, though positioned on stage level, never overpowered the singers – a remarkable feat. Part of the credit belongs to Berlioz, who, with masterful control, lets the orchestra soar at full strength when the singers rest and instantly subdues it when they enter. The music, like all Berlioz, alternates sophisticated complexity with almost naïve simplicity, and combines epic grandeur, drama and passion with melting lyricism, poetic ardor, and heart-breaking sorrow. But amid all the sound and fury of shrilling piccolos and clashing cymbals, it is the intimate scenes of tender affection that remain in the memory.

Romeo et Juilette is a strange realization of Shakespeare’s play. True to its title and to Berlioz’ conviction that music speaks more eloquently than words, the orchestra carries the action, sets the moods, and evokes the characters’ thoughts and feelings. (The score requires from two to ten harps; the Mariinsky had two.) The chorus, a solo mezzo-soprano and tenor act as narrators and commentators; in the last scene, the solo bass becomes Friar Lawrence and delivers a long exhortation to the warring families to finally make peace. The work is rarely performed in its entirety, as it was here, but the elfin “Queen Mab” Scherzo, depicting Romeo’s dream, is a favorite orchestral bravura piece.

By contrast, Les Troyens is a grand opera with a cast of more than 20 characters; requiring a huge chorus and orchestra and over a dozen vocal soloists, it lasts four hours and was performed in two parts on consecutive evenings. Berlioz wrote his own libretto; the first part recounts the tragic end of the siege of Troy, the second the tragic love story between the Carthagean Queen Dido and the Trojan hero Aeneas. The vocally and dramatically most demanding parts are two mezzo-sopranos as Cassandra in Part I and Dido in Part II; Aeneas, a very high, heroic tenor, appears in both parts. The singers, who included the Romeo soloists, were terrific; all except one sang from memory. In Part I, they remained static, but in Part II they acted and interacted, underlining drama and emotion with gestures and movements.

But the real hero was Gergiev. Using no podium gives him unusual freedom of movement; he walked about, turning and leaning toward the players, leapt up, and swayed to the music. He conducted Part I without baton; for Part II, he brought one out, but mostly kept it in his left hand. His knowledge of the complex scores and control of his massive forces were incredible; he was in close contact with the soloists, though he had his back to them and they hardly looked at him. Guiding and shaping each performance in every detail and as an overarching whole, he held the capacity audiences spellbound until the tumultuous ovations.

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