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.
