Category: Dance

BSO x 2 ~ Mostly Shostakovich

Above: Dimitri Shostakovich

~ Author: Ben Weaver

Wednesday April 23rd and Thursday April 24th, 2025 – Dmitri Shostakovich was the focus of Boston Symphony Orchestra’s two-concert visit to Carnegie Hall this week, under the leadership of its music director Andris Nelsons. Shostakovich’s son Maxim, dedicatee and first performer of the Second Piano Concerto, was in attendance on the second evening.

Shostakovich died 50 years ago, and his famous struggles living and composing in a totalitarian regime, always one offense away from the gulag, sadly remain relevant today – not just in Russia, but in the United States as well. Cellist Yo-Yo Ma made a brief statement from the stage, quoting Josef Stalin’s famous line: “A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths are a statistic.” Ma pleaded that no death should ever be a statistic, and he wanted to honor anyone suffering loss of life or dignity. Ma did not name any names, but the meaning is loud and clear as our own US government is disappearing human beings into foreign gulags. For anyone who argues that artists should stay out of politics, people like Shostakovich remain an important reminder that art has launched revolutions, and if art was not political, it would never be banned.

Above: Yo-Yo Ma, photo by Robert Torres

Cello Concerto No. 1 in E-flat major, Op. 107, composed in 1959, was dedicated to Mstislav Rostropovich (as was, incidentally, the 2nd.) Yo-Yo Ma has been performing it for much of his career and his deep affection for it is clear. His warning about tyranny just before the performance was reflected in his approach to the jolly opening tune, which Ma played with a rawness that made it darker and more sinister. Irony and the grotesque are deeply ingrained in Soviet art, a tool for plausible deniability which anyone who wished to survive purges needed to master. The Playbill notes by Harlow Robinson point out that Shostakovich buried in the score a small, distorted fragment from Josef Stalin’s favorite Georgian folk song, “Suliko” – something even Rostropovich did not spot until Shostakovich finally pointed it out. (Stalin died in 1953, six years before the Concerto was composed.) As an encore Ma joined Boston Symphony’s entire cello section and they delivered a jaunty version of a traditional Yiddish tune “Moyshele,” arranged for a cello ensemble by BSO’s principal cellist Blaise Déjardin, who also contributed magnificent solo playing.

Two late symphonies by Shostakovich received searing performances under Andris Nelson’s leadership. Over the last few years maestro Nelsons performed and recorded all of Shostakovich’s symphonies with the Boston Symphony Orchestra for Deutsche Grammophon. It is an excellent cycle (which also includes the Piano Concertos with Yuja Wang, Violin Concertos with Baiba Skride, Cello Concertos with Mr. Ma, and the opera Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk District. I have found much of these performances excellent.)

Above: Maestro Nelsons, photo by Chris Lee

Symphony No. 11 in G minor, Op. 103 (composed in 1956-57) carries the subtitle “The Year 1905.” The work depicts the failed revolution against the Russian monarchy and earned Shostakovich the Lenin prize.

The opening movement Adagio, subtitled “The Palace Square,” is dark and gloomy, with dull strikes from the timpani foreshadowing events to come. Nelsons’s deliberate tempo set the mood well, building tension to the bloodshed to come. (I also noticed there is a section here John Williams “borrowed” for T-Rex in the score for “Jurassic Park.”) The brutal second movement (Allegro, “The 9th of January”) depicts the “Bloody Sunday” at the Winter Palace where peaceful protesters were massacred by the guard. The pounding march depicting the assault was led by BSO’s excellent percussion section. A mournful “Memory Eternal” and defiant “Tocsin” movements (a celesta taking the place of a tocsin bell) were emotionally shattering under maestro Nelson’s leadership.

Shostakovich’s last Symphony, No. 15 in A major, Op. 141 (composed in 1970-71) was originally intended to celebrate his own 65th birthday. Several medical emergencies, including a heart attack, delayed its composition and premiere, which finally took place under his son Maxim’s direction in 1972. It’s most unusual aspect is presence of extensive unaltered quotations from Rossini’s William Tell Overture and Wagner’s Götterdämmerung and Tristan und Isolde, composers and works not immediately identified with Shostakovich. The full mystery of why he included these specific quotations remains a matter of speculation. I’ve always found the “Lone Ranger” theme to be especially jarring, but it’s important to note that Shostakovich is highly unlikely to have been familiar with that American TV series, so his point of reference to that music would have been very different from ours. Musically the choices do fit into the fabric of the symphony. The raucous opening movement – which Shostakovich ones called a “toy shop” – is a perfect place for the galloping Rossini tune. And Wagner’s music is a perfect fit for the stillness of the symphony’s latter movements. Shostakovich also quotes some of his own music. The closing percussion – like tickings of a clock – immediately remind one of the ending of the second movement of his Symphony No. 4. Andris Nelsons and his Boston forces delivered a largely superb performance, although I think maestro Nelsons’ lethargic take on the Adagio (second and fourth movements) was a misstep. They dragged and lost focus, no matter how beautifully the orchestra played. But special mention to concertmaster Nathan Cole, principal cellist Blaise Déjardin, and flautist Lorna McGhee for superb solo contributions.

Above: Maestro Nelsons and Mitsuko Uchida take a bow; photo by Chris Lee

Ludwig van Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in G major, Op. 58 opened BSO’s two-night residence at Carnegie, with the always brilliant Mitsuko Uchida as soloist. The concerto has often been interpreted as Orfeo calming the furies (particularly in the magical second movement, where calmness by the soloist is interrupted by angry strings) – and so Ms. Uchida bravely faced a consumptive audience member who began proudly coughing as Ms. Uchida began to play. After a few calming chords, Ms. Uchida stopped and held up her hands in the direction of the patient. The offender took her time exiting the auditorium, coughing non-stop. We could still hear her coughing up a lung from the hallway, but that’s the most we could hope for.

Finally the performance resumed with Ms. Uchida delivering an deeply moving performance. The work is full of conflict, but – somewhat unusual for Beethoven – if his voice its the soloist, he calms the other side instead of fighting it. Such dignified understatements were presented by Ms. Uchida with unaffected dignity and charm. That stunning second movement, with angry strings being repeatedly silenced by the soothing soloist, is among Beethoven’s most powerful and beautiful statements, and Ms. Uchida is simply second-to-none with sincerity and beauty. The rollicking Rondo: Vivace that closes the concerto is Beethoven’s victory over adversity dance, but one filled with humor. Here, too, Ms. Uchida played with unabashed, contagious joy.

Backstage: Maestro Nelsons and Ms. Uchida; photo by Chris Lee

Andris Nelsons is an excellent accompanist, which I’ve had a chance to note many times. His respect for his soloists, keeping the orchestra from burying them, is an admirable trait – one I wish a few other notable conductors would also acquire.

~ Ben Weaver

(Chris Lee’s performance photos courtesy of Carnegie Hall)

April 26, 2025
Gihoon Kim at The Met

Above: Korean baritone Gihoon Kim with Met Opera fan Sophia Cerovsek

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday March 8th, 2025 matinee – I wanted to catch Gihoon Kim’s Schaunard in the Met’s BOHEME a second time. Since watching the Korean baritone take the title Cardiff Singer of the World at the 2021 competition, where his Tanzlied from Korngold’s DIE TOTE STADT brought the beloved soprano Roberta Alexander (one of the judges) to tears, I have followed Gihoon’s career, and even befriended him on Facebook. He has a wonderful voice and a sunny, life-embracing personality.

Although I was at a score desk, I’d heard about Gihoon’s dance routine (and the ensuing duel) in Act IV, so this time I stood up and took in all the action. Hilarious! Later in the act, it is Schaunard who first realizes that Mimi has breathed her last: “…è spirata…” , which Gihoon spoke in a hushed voice. After the performance, I went to say hello to him at the stage door.

Aside from Gihoon, the only singers in the cast whose work I was familiar with were Joseph Calleja (Rodolfo) and Kristina Mkhitaryan (Mimi, who I’d previously seen as Musetta). Brittany Renee (Musetta), Luca Micheletti (Marcello), and Nicolas Testé (Colline) took the other leads today, and the British conductor Alexander Soddy was on the podium.

Although there was sometimes a feeling that the cast was under-rehearsed, overall the performance came off quite well; Maestro Soddy did cover the voices at times (a trend at the Met these days), but his tempi were nice, and I liked the energy he developed as the military parade passes by the Café Momus.

I had not heard Joseph Calleja (Rodolfo) in the House since his 2019 Pollione. The voice has always had a fast but fascinating vibrato, and that was in play today; for me, it adds a special appeal to his singing. Today, his highest range seemed somewhat compromised; he may have been ill, or perhaps this is how he sounds now, after having sung, in recent years, some roles that stretched his essentially lyrical voice. Whatever the trouble, he managed to find a work-around, keeping the higher notes brief, or trying a headier resonance. At the end of the love duet, he at first harmonized with the soprano, but then went for the concluding top note which was a bit husky but which his Mimi’s clear note helped to masque. Thereafter, Mr. Calleja was a truly poetic Rodolfo; his singing has a vulnerable trace that is most appealing. His most magical moment came at the end of Act III when he produced a gorgeous falsetto tone on “…la stagione dei fiori…” Really exquisite. Earlier, at the end of “Che gelida manina…” he had created the same intimate atmosphere with his delicate “Via piaccia dir?“, sustained down to a whisper.

Today’s two sopranos both have vibrant voices, capable of filling the Met (so long as the Maestro kept the orchestra’s volume agreeable). Both Kristina Mkhitaryan and Brittany Renee have a bit more vibrato in their tone than I could wish, but other opera friends of mine feel this is a trend nowadays, and they are not bothered by it.

Ms. Mkhitaryan’s Mimi made her entrance after a lovely flute solo; oddly, for the first time, I sensed that a shadow of doom lies over the seamstress right from her hesitant “Scusi…”. As her narrative-aria unfolded, the vibrato became less intrusive; her singing was poetic. The orchestra slowed a bit, so she could make the most of the lyrical “Ma, quando vien lo sgelo...”; and in the lingering phrases that follow, the soprano was most persuasive. In their classic duet, she and Mr. Calleja beautifully expressed their blooming love. The tenor’s haunting “Che m’ami, di...” was met by the soprano’s delicate “Io t’amo!“. Nothing in the world compares to falling in love at first sight; I’ve done it hundreds of time thru the years…usually in vain.

Ms. Mkhitaryan’s singing in the Act III duet with Marcello was tinged with desperation, and her “Donde lieta usci...” was truly touching, especially her hushed “Bada, sotto il guanciale c’è la cuffietta rosa…” which made me choke back tears. The aria had a ravishing, sustained ending. In the final minutes of Mimi’s life, Ms. Mkhitaryan summoned a lovely palette of vocal pastels; she even introduced a touch of playfulness as she and Rodolfo recalled their first meeting. But then the fatal cough sets in, her final lines trailing off into eternity.

Ms. Renee’s Musetta, like most takes on this role, is an extrovert. Her noisy disruption of the Momus party was laced with moments of shrill shrieking, but she settled in for the Waltz, especially nice in the insinuating subtleties of the second verse, and then capping off the ensemble with a bright top note. At the end of the third act, Musetta again gets shrewish as she and Marcello indulge in name-calling. Ms. Renee was at her most compelling when we see the other side of her as she prays for Mimi’s recovery, and she and Marcello comprehend the depth of their love for one another.

From note one, Luca Micheletti was a superb Marcello; this can really be a star role – when it’s truly well sung and acted – and that’s what this baritone made it. Every note and line counted for something, so that even the big moments – like leading the Act II ensemble, singing the melody of Musetta’s waltz – are part of a grander scheme. In his Act III duet with Ms. Mkhitaryan, and again in his Act IV duet with Mr. Calleja, the singer sounded just the way you want an Italian baritone to sound: passionate, expressive, and assured. I will look for him in the future…bravissimo!

No less impressive than his painter/colleague, Nicolas Testé as the philosopher Colline excelled. Taking every opportunity to make his mark, the French basso highlighted such moments as joining Micheletti/Marcello in a commanding “Abbasso, abbasso l’autore!” as they dismiss Rodolfo’s feeble effort to get a fire going in the stove of their frigid garret. His observations of the two ‘loving’ couples at Momus were spot on. But of course it was in the Coat Aria of Act IV that M. Testé (abetted by excellent horn playing from the pit) struck vocal gold. Really beautifully done…grand merci!!

It was not a perfect performance, but it was extremely moving; and sometimes that is all that matters. I found myself thinking of my sister’s passing last July; like Mimi, she slipped away quietly – with loved ones watching over her – at the end of her battle with cancer. Ironically, LA BOHEME was one of only two operas my sister ever saw – at the Old Met in her college days. I was always jealous that the cast she had seen included Dorothy Kirsten, Carlo Bergonzi, and Anneliese Rothenberger.

Sitting at my score desk, people often come up to talk to me during intermission; they’ve spotted me from Family Circle, with my reading lamp on, my score open, and taking notes. Today, three young engineering students from Columbia University stopped by, each wearing a necktie and all looking very dapper. They were all seeing their first opera; they asked me many questions, and I found my usually-reticent self babbling away about how wonderful opera is, and how it changed my life (literally!). Once I get started on the topic, it’s impossible to shut me up.

Earlier, I’d been chatting with the young woman seated in front of me; she was seeing her second opera this afternoon, and she asked for suggestions of what other operas she should try. In the course of our chat, she apologized for mispronouncing the names of the great operas, and of the characters in them. I assured her that all opera lovers start out that way; you can only imagine how I mangled the title of Leonora’s great aria “Pace! Pace, mio dio!” for several weeks before I heard the correct pronunciation. To this day, I still blush to myself when I think of it.

~ Oberon

March 9, 2025
Israeli Chamber Project @ Merkin Hall ~ 2025

Above: cellist Michal Korman and harpist Sivan Magen

~ Author: Oberon

Thursday February 27th, 2025 – My previous encounter with the Israeli Chamber Project, in April of 2024, was nothing short of revelatory. Read about that concert here. Hoping to be similarly transported tonight, I was settling in when I realized there was no heat in the hall. It was so uncomfortable that I actually considered leaving at the intermission. Thank goodness I stayed, as the concluding Shostakovich was simply spectacular.

This evening’s program, entitled ORPHEUS’ HARP, featured four works in which the Project’s harpist, Sivan Magen, regaled us with his extraordinary artistry. Completing the program were piano trios by Shostakovich and Paul Ben-Haim.

To open the concert, Mr. Magen was joined by violinist Itamar Zorman and the lovely cellist, Michal Korman, for Orpheus, Symphonic Poem for Violin, Cello and Harp by Franz Liszt/Camille Saint-Saëns. String chords sound, soon joined by the rhapsodic harp: Mr. Magen’s playing is truly delectable, his mastery of dynamics and his agility are spellbinding. The music begins to flow, with alternating currents of major and minor. The plush blend of timbres is a balm to the ear: the unison strings are rapturous, the harp magical. Large scale tremelos from cello and violin lend a sense of drama. The cello goes deep, heralding a lamenting passage; through a series of chords, the piece reaches a pianissimo conclusion.

Jacques Ibert’s Two Interludes for Clarinet, Cello and Harp dates from 1946. Tibi Cziger’s clarinet joins Ms. Korman and Mr. Magen in the wistful opening of the Andante espressivo; the music becomes increasingly sensuous, with the dusky sound of the Korman cello wonderfully alluring. Mr. Cziger’s rich timbre, his savorable piani, and his ravishing trills are entwined with Mr. Magen’s entrancing harp passages. The second interlude, Allegro vivo, has a Spanish lilt; it is music both lively and mysterious. The cello sounds sexy, the clarinet enticing, the harp exotic; their harmonies are so evocative.

Paul Ben-Haim’s Variations on a Hebrew Melody for Piano Trio was composed in 1939. Read about the Munich-born composer here. Pianist Assaff Weisman joins Mr. Zorman and Ms. Korman in the work’s tumultuous opening; the doom-ladened cello, sizzling violin, and darkling piano create a creepy – even ominous – atmosphere. Unison, sighing strings give way to an enchanting piano solo, wherein Mr. Weisman slowly darkens the atmosphere before a rise of passion brings forth his trills and high filigree. Mr. Zorman introduces a dance filled with mood swings; the music turns waltzy. The piano sneaks up on us, suddenly sounding alarms. This is fabulous music, marked by an epic piano glissando.

The violin plays high over cello staccati, the pianist regales us with more magic before launching another dance, which comes to a dramatic halt. Mr. Weisman now introduces Ms. Korman, whose cello takes up a poignant lullaby in which Mr. Zorman joins. The music turns dreamy as this bittersweet work reaches its sublime finish.

Following the interval, Robert Schumann’s Three Fantasy Pieces, Op. 73 for Clarinet and Harp were presented by Mssrs. Cziger and Magen. In the first movement we could enjoy the clarinetist’s dulcet tone and his elegant finesse. The music is spellbinding; Mr. Magen’s playing is nothing less than sublime, and the music finds a magical finish. Fanciful harping and lyrical themes from the clarinet mesh in the second movement, which proceeds with some expert coloratura from Mr. Cziger. The third song has an exuberant start which calms to a melodic flow. An interlude veers into minor mode before we come to a swift, sweet finish. The communication between the two artists was delightful to watch from my front-row seat.

Mssrs. Magen and Weisman then took up Carlos Salzedo‘s Sonata for Harp and Piano which dates from 1922. A harpist himself, the composer ironically played the piano for the work’s premiere. The music leans towards modernism; from its fast, fun start, the piano plays a major role. A delicious sense of mystery develops, with subtle, intriguing harp motifs and trilling from both, as the instruments converse. Dynamic variety keeps the music ever-engaging; drama takes over with some extroverted keyboard passages, and then subtleties emerge. Mr. Weisman regales us with cascades of notes, and Mr. Magen has a passage with ‘prepared’ strings that alter the mood. Melismas herald an ethereal, pianissimo mood wherein a mystical atmosphere pervades. Some very delicate plucking follows; after a brief speed-up, a pacing motif leads to a dirge until some violent slashings seem to portend a dramatic finish; instead the music fades, as if it had all been a dream.

The concert ended with a thrilling rendering of Dmitri Shostakovich’s Piano Trio No. 1 in C-minor, Op. 8, played to perfection by Ms. Korman and Mssrs. Zorman and Weisman. Cast in a single movement, this music has an immediate beauty; a pensive start turns playful as the fiddle commences a dance. Order is restored, but then things again get jaunty…and briefly urgent. A charming violin passage leaves Ms. Korman to a heartfelt cello solo, with the delicate piano lending support as Mr. Zorman then takes over, his high register shining. A more animated mood evolves, and Mr. Weisman’s playing gets quite grand. Buzzing strings intrude, and some wild violin measures turn into a dialogue with cello.

There is a full stop, and then a caressive melody is passed from violin to piano before the cello joins. In cantabile mode, Mr. Zorman sounds divine…and then Ms. Korman takes up the theme, with the Weisman piano adding more colours. Lush, melodious music for the strings is embellished with shimmering sounds from the piano. Passion now rises, almost to madness; epic grandeur leads on to a swift finish.

This concert reassured me of the power of music – especially when it’s so gorgeously played – to sustain us in an increasingly dismal world. I fear so much will be lost to us in the months ahead, but music can always help us find light in the darkness. Thank you, artists of the Israeli Chamber Project, for a truly uplifting evening.

~ Oberon

February 27, 2025
Mendelssohn Evening @ CMS

Above: Felix Mendelssohn

~ Author: Oberon

Tuesday February 25th, 2025 – Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center offering an all-Mendelssohn evening featuring a de luxe ensemble of musicians: pianist Anne-Marie McDermott, violinist Arnaud Sussmann, cellist Nicholas Canellakis, and the Escher Quartet.

This concert was a much-needed lift of my spirits after weeks of unbearably frigid weather and a weekend of unsettling health issues. Just setting foot in Alice Tully Hall made me feel better; and then the music – and the musicians – provided just the right antidote to my malaise. By the end of the program, I was thoroughly rejuvenated.

Mr. Canellakis and Ms. McDermott (above photo by Da Ping Luo) opened the program with the Sonata No. 1 in B-flat major, Op. 45. The sonata’s Allegro vivace commences with a unison passage; a rolling melody emerges, in which he cello’s lower range is explored. Moving into minor mode, the music becomes insistent. Arpeggios from the Canellakis cello turn into long tones sustained over a roaming piano. The music turns passionate, then grand, leading to a brisk finish full of Ms. McDermott’s marvelous playing.

The winsome piano introduction to the Andante signals the appearance of a familiar theme. Nick’s melodious cello sings over elegant passages from the Steinway; Ms. McDermott then plays a delicate dance accompanied by plucked cello figurations. An increase of passion lasts only moments; the piano resumes its lightness and the music fades away.

The concluding Allegro assai brings a flow of melody; things get more animated, sweeping forward with lyrical, haunting passages. An energetic ending looms, but Mendelssohn instead provides a peace-filled finish.

Above, the Escher Quartet: Adam Barnett-Hart, Brendan Speltz, Brook Speltz, Pierre Lapointe; photo by Da Ping Luo

The Eschers then took the stage for the Quartet in F-minor for Strings, Op. 80.

Fanny Mendelssohn, Felix Mendelssohn’s beloved older sister, had died unexpectedly at the age of 41 in May of 1847. Felix, devastated, was unable to attend the funeral; he went to Switzerland to recover. There, he hiked and painted, and forced himself to compose, managing to compete his F-minor quartet. It would be one of his last completed works; he died on November 4th at the age of 38.

The Allegro vivace assai has an agitated feel: fast, fantastical music with sentimental pauses woven in. The Eschers’ trademark blend is at its most persuasive, viola and cello emerging with darker hues. Classic harmonies abound, and then the foursome become speed demons.

Unison passages open the familiar Scherzo; while energetic, the music abounds in subtleties that hint at deeper underlying thoughts. Viola and cello sing in unison before the scherzo reaches what seems like a delicate finish, only to be extended by a sort of coda.

Anguish overtakes the mood in the Adagio as Brook Speltz’s velvety cello sings a poignant melody. This is music full of longing. Themes are passed about, each of the four voices distinctively expressive. The quartet’s dynamic range is lovingly in evidence. Almost unbearably beautiful harmonies are set forth, with violist Pierre Lapointe in a lamenting passage before before Adam Barnett-Hart’s violin makes a final, poignant ascent.

The minor mode feels ominous as the finale commences. The insistent cello carries the musicians to fresh themes, with shifts from major to minor seeming to evoke Mendelssohn’s struggle with his emotions in his mourning state. Mr. Barnett-Hart’s marvelous artistry shines in the work’s concluding measures. The Eschers, ever immaculate in their music-making, were warmly hailed by the packed house.

Following the interval, the Eschers re-appeared for an Andante and Scherzo culled from Four Pieces for String Quartet, Op. 81, opening with an Andante sostenuto filled with courtly elegance. Mr. Lapointe savors a solo viola melody, and then things speed up. Sweet violin phrases are met by animation from the cello. Mr. Barnett-Hart’s cadenza leads to a da capo, and the music comes to a pretty finish.

Next on offer was more music from Opus 81: a Scherzo in Midsummer Night’s Dream mode which introduces duetting from Mr. Barnett-Hart and his fellow violinist, Brendan Speltz. This is witty and wonderful music, thoroughly captivating.

Above: Arnaud Sussmann, Anne-Marie McDermott, and Nick Canellakis; photo by Da Ping Luo

To conclude the evening, the Trio No. 2 in C-minor for piano, violin, and cello, Op. 66, was given a thrilling rendering by Ms. McDermott, joined by violinist Arnaud Sussmann and Mr. Canellakis.

Rolling piano motifs and restless strings open the main theme of the first movement, in which melodious themes are passed among the three musicians. Ms. McDermott, in some of the most amazing playing I have ever heard from her, set forth cascading keyboard passages – filled with both passion and subtlety – to dazzling effect. The Canellakis cello has a tender melody, taken up by the Sussmann violin, with magical support from Ms. McDermott; her playing was epic, and the trio swept onward with interwoven harmonies from the gentlemen. Bravi, bravi, bravi!!

The gentle Andante espressivo, with its nostalgic piano introduction, becomes waltz-like as the strings join lovingly. Piano interludes enchant; Mr. Canellakis delights with his poetic playing, while the sheer perfection of Mr. Sussmann’s artistry creates a simply gorgeous atmosphere in which we can linger and dream. Passion rises, only to settle into bliss.

Next, music that shows us why Mendelssohn is the King of the Scherzo…it’s swift and sure, the playing dazzling. The musicians seemed to be having a blast here.

The cello, and then violin, set the mood of the concluding Allegro appassionato…and passion is indeed the byword here. Bending minor-key themes are intriguing; Ms. McDemott is simply sensational at every moment. Crazy fun! But then a reverential interlude suddenly emerges, Mr. Sussmann’s violin singing sweetly over the piano accompaniment. This introspection gives way to thrilling build-up of emotion, with Ms. McDemott’s keyboard on the verge of bursting into flame.

As the last note sounded, the audience rose to salute the players with a roaring ovation that brought them forth for a second bow, much to everyone’s delight. I literally felt reborn.

~ Oberon

February 25, 2025
Ensemble Connect ~ Up Close

Above, composer/curator Gabriela Ortiz welcomes the crowd; photo by Chris Lee

~ Author: Oberon

Monday January 27th, 2025 – Ensemble Connect is a joint program of Carnegie Hall, The Juilliard School, and the Weill Music Institute in partnership with the New York City Department of Education. In tonight’s Up Close presentation, curated by composer Gabriela Ortiz, the young artists of the Ensemble performed at the Hall’s Resnick Education Wing, an intimate venue which I’d never been aware of until Carnegie’s Meg Boyle gently twisted my arm into giving it a try.

Above: Chelsea Wang and Ryan Dresen playing Ortiz; photo by Chris Lee

The evening opened with the New York premiere by of Pigmentum by Ms. Ortiz, a four-movement work presented in collaboration with visual artist Martirene Alcántara that was performed by Ryan Dresen (horn) and Chelsea Wang (piano) whilst a film by Ms. Alcántara was shown on a hanging screen.

Each of the work’s four movements is named for a shade of blue, the first being Indigo. This music veered from dreamy to jazzy; some of the piano’s tones had been ‘prepared’, giving a quirky, off-kilter sound. Mr. Dresen’s playing has beauty and power throughout the range, and passages played with a mute were intriguing. Chime-like piano notes introduce Lapislazuli, with horn calls leading to a duet in the instruments’ lower ranges. The music gets wild, and a sudden ending takes us by surprise. The rippling delicacy of Ms. Wang’s playing in Cobalto is joined by the dusky sound of the horn. The music gets grand, then pensive. In the concluding Ultramar, Mr. Dresen’s horn rambles and stutters. There is a false ending, and then the enigmatic sound of toneless air being blown thru the horn.

Mexico’s Carlos Carlos Sánchez-Gutiérrez presented Luciérnagas (photo above Chris Lee) for which three alumni of the Ensemble – Yasmina Spiegelberg (clarinet), Joanne Kang (piano), and Mari Lee (violin) – joined percussionist de luxe Oliver Xu and cellist Frankie Carr, who introduced the piece. A chord introduces the insectuous music of a swarm of fireflies, whilst the cello vibrates. The clarinet trills, the sneaky piano intones, cello and clarinet sound in unison. The xylophone heralds an explosion causing the violin to go crazy. A rhythmic passage turns spacey, thunder rolls, the bass clarinet rumbles deeply whilst awesome percussion motifs sound. An intriguing marimba solo is interrupted by an urgent one-note motif from the violin, and then the xylophone goes off like a fire alarm; the insistent piano sounds urgently. Silence falls. This seemed like a perfect place to end, but no…we go on, savouring some rhapsodic playing from Ms. Kang at the piano. But then the music turns dark and scary; a cymbal crash leads to a total wipe-out. Somehow, thru all of this, it was the cellist who seemed the central figure, both thru his noble playing and his poetic face.

For “La Hamaca” from La Hamaca (NY Premiere) by the Venezuelan composer Ricardo Lorenz, the players were Chelsea Wang (piano), alumna Mari Lee, and cellist Thapelo Masita. The music opens softly with the piano joined by the violin; the cellist enters with a pinging motif before taking up a gorgeous theme wherein Mr. Masita’s tone was matched by the sweetness of the violin and magical sounds from the piano. The music turns passionate, then staccati introduce new themes, with rich playing from the cello. The staccati resume before Ms. Lee’s violin sings on high; dense harmonies emerge before an agitato outburst. A bouncy rhythm springs up…fabulous playing from the trio as the music wafts to heaven and then fades away.

Above, in a Chris Lee photo: Joanne Kang and Oliver Xu playing the Cuban composer Ileana Perez Velazquez’s Light echoes, having its New York premiere this evening. This piece gave us a virtuoso percussion display from Oliver Xu, who moved amidst his array of instruments with assured grace, as if in a choreographed solo. No less marvelous was Ms. Kang, who was back at the piano to make more magic. Bass drum rolls, bongo beats, and gong tones set off a jazzy piano theme. The swaying rhythm gets big as Mr. Xu moves swiftly from xylophone to ancient hanging bells to every type of drum. Ms. Kang commences a keyboard interlude, laced with various percussive comments. Suddenly, there’s a kind of cabaletta, fast and florid, before things quieten and the mysterious gong sounds; a rhythmic coda ensues. Brilliant playing from start to finish!

The Costa Rican composer Alejandro Cardona’s Axolotl (a US premiere) brought three wind players to prominence: Ms. Spiegelberg (clarinet), Anjali Shinde (flute), and Joseph Jordan (oboe) with Joanne Kang at the piano, Mr. Carr with his cello, and the lovely violinist Isabelle Ai Durrenberger (photo above by Chris Lee).

Above: Joseph Jordan and Anjali Shinde, photo by Chris Lee

The piece develops gradually clarinet and oboe are heard in sync, and the piano music is jazzy. Stillness, and then a haunting flute passage is heard over delicately sustained string tones creating a wonderful air of mystery. The clarinet gets jazzy as a sexy beat rises; more jazz from the violin, whilst the cello is strummed like a guitar. Wailing clarinet and oboe slowly sputter out, and a thoughtful flute solo ensues, with piano and cello commenting. Bass clarinet and flute converse over the deep cello and piano; these voices then make an incredible fade-away.

The concert ended with the world premiere of Gritos de fuego, patrias de papel by the Colombian composer Carolina Noguera (above, photo by Chris Lee). This work brought together the largest ensemble of the evening, with Leonardo Pineda conducting. Joining Mlles. Shinde, Spiegelberg, Wang, Ai Durrenberger, and Mssrs. Jordan, Dresen, Xu, and Masita were flautist Catherine Boyack, bassoonist Marty Tung, violist Ramon Carrero-Martinez, and bass-player Marguerite Cox.

Photo: the ensemble playing the Noguera, photo by Chris Lee

From an explosive start, announced by three massive strikes of the bass drum, eerie strings emerge; the flutes blow air as more thunder claps, wailing winds, and rumbling piano depict the storm, which gives way to the amazingly subtle and sustained violin supported by cello tremelos. A long flute trill sounds as the oboe blows air and a quiet sense of ecstasy settles overall. The piano and eerie shimmers from the violin bring on a repetitive 4-note rising motif from the violin. From a perpetual quietude, raindrop piano notes accompany a sweet and serene solo from Ms. Ai Durrenberger’s violin. The bassoon chimes in, the viola plays a repeated phrase. Big chords are repeated, and then the music vanishes into thin air as a sensationally sustained cello tone from Mr. Masita fades to silence.

Above: the composers take a bow; photo by Chris Lee

Audience members lingered to greet the artists and the composers; except for congratulating Mr. Masita, I was too shy to speak to anyone. But I did have a chance to meet and thank photographer Chris Lee, whose remarkable gift for capturing the essence of Carnegie Hall concerts I have been lucky enough to share on my blog these past few years.

Above, the finale: this, and all the performance photos, are by Chris Lee, courtesy of Carnegie Hall

~ Oberon

January 27, 2025
Paola Prestini/Magos Herrera ~ Primero Sueño

Above: Paola Prestini and Margos Herrera

~ Author: LiIi Tobias

Friday, January 24th, 2025 – My evening began with a pilgrimage to the Met Cloisters to attend the world premiere of Paola Prestini and Magos Herrera’s opera Primero Sueño. After traveling for an hour and a half on the subway from Queens up to Washington Heights, I then trekked uphill along a perilously icy pathway into Fort Tryon Park. As I neared the museum, the stone towers emerged majestically above the bare treetops in the night sky. I had never been to the Cloisters at night, not to mention in the Winter either, and it was certainly an experience unlike any of my daytime, Summer excursions. But it was pleasantly warm inside, though dimly lit which created an air of mystery for the music to come….

As the audience mingled in the entry room, we were greeted by a group of ghostly singers, draped in translucent white veils. These were the sjaella (sisters) – the nuns living in Sor Juana’s convent. The sisters sang on a sustained “ah,” the tones drifting to and fro, wavering gently between consonance and dissonance. They then beckoned us to walk up the stairs where they had first appeared and into the adjacent room, which bordered a candle-filled colonnade encircling a dark garden.

As a “procession opera,” this production gave prominence to the spatial aspect of sound. As we walked into this first room, the singing of the nuns faded as it was gradually overtaken by the gentle plucking of a harp and theorbo. Later in the opera too, we were separated into two groups and led by the nuns around the circumference of the colonnade, while they performed a processional chant. Their voices, singing the refrain “Santa Maria,” reverberated through the corridors and around the corners of the space, and their shadows were projected on the stone walls as they walked. I imagine it must have been an entirely different experience for almost every audience member, just based on where they were standing within the group!

Production photo by Jill Steinberg

Movement and dance were both incredible forces of expression in this performance—just as important as the music. In the second room that the singers and musicians traveled to, Sor Juana (performed by co-composer and librettist, Magos Herrera), lead the other nuns in song and dance as she worked on writing her poem, “Primero Sueño.” The rhythmic nature, expressed through both the music and dance, created an exuberant atmosphere as the women worked together helping Sor Juana write.

However, their happiness and safety was suddenly challenged by the appearance of the god Morpheus (danced by Jorrell Lawyer-Jefferson), who struck fear in the nuns. He didn’t sing, but his unsettling movements, accompanied by a distorted recording, came across as otherworldly and dangerous. Lawyer-Jefferson appeared later in the opera as well, both as Quetzalcoatl and Phaeton – both much more positive and comforting mythical figures compared to Morpheus. The abundance of mythical figures in this opera was really interesting, given that Sor Juana and the sisters are nuns, so Christian figures such as Mary coexisted with the indigenous deity Quetzalcoatl, as well as with the Greek Nyctimene, Morpheus, and Phaeton.

Production photo by Jill Steinberg

The juxtaposition of multiple very different religious and cultural traditions was just one of many intriguing juxtapositions in this production. The opera also created a space where music from many different traditions—classical choral, jazz, electronic, folk, etc.—could exist at the same time. While much of the time, the music felt extremely mystical and otherworldly, there were also many sudden shifts back to the mundane. Back in the first room, the sisters broke into song as they complete their daily tasks, such as sewing and gardening. Their simple call and response, accompanied by recorded birdsong, grounded the scene in the present world, rather than the mystical realm Sor Juana was inhabiting just a few moments before. The final number, when Sor Juana has ultimately returned to her poem is also a joyous return to the real world after her encounter with Phaeton in the cosmos. The music here has a folk-like feel, as Sor Juana recites the verses to the audience, performing her words like telling a story.

Production photo by Jill Steinberg

I was constantly captivated, surprised, and inspired by every aspect of Primero Sueño. The production worked so well in the Cloisters, and I hope that it can be performed there again, or even in another similarly gorgeous location. At the end of the production, all the performers, joined by Paola Prestini and who I believe was Louisa Prouske, the director, were celebrated with raucous applause and (literally!) danced their way out of the final room.

~ Lili Tobias

January 26, 2025
Zwilich & Barber @ Carnegie Hall

Above: composer Ellen Taaffe Zwilich

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday December 28th, 2024 – The New York String Orchestra were back at Carnegie Hall this evening, following up their Christmas Eve concert in the same Hall with a program of Zwlilich, Barber, and Brahms. I’d been down with flu-like symptoms for a couple of days, and debated whether I should attend tonight’s concert, but I couldn’t pass up a chance to experience the Barber violin concerto played live in this hall. Whether I could make it to the evening’s end remained to be seen.

1983 Pulitzer Prize-winner Ellen Taafe Zwilich’s composed her Prologue and Variations for string orchestra on a commission from the Chattanooga Symphony, which premiered it under the baton of Richard Cormier in 1984. In her remarks on this piece, the composer spoke of her wish to celebrate “the special sonorities, character, and expressiveness of the string orchestra”. In tonight’s performance, the young players of the New York String Orchestra truly did the composer proud.

The violins open the piece, with start-and-stop phrases, soon picked up by the cellos. The violins then soar over an insistent beat. After a passage of luminous softness, the celli and basses cushion sizzling violins motifs. The opening theme recurs, and then a series of slow, mysterious sustained tones lead to a full stop.

An animated section quietens to a slightly ominous lulling atmosphere. Then an agitato springs up, full of scale-work and insistent bowing. The music turns pensive, with brooding celli and deep basses. A trudging rhythm and fading violins lead to the work’s eerie ending.

Enthusiastic applause greeted the musicians, and then Maestro Laredo gestured to Ms. Zwilich in her first tier box to rise for a bow; well-deserved bravas greeted the composer, now in her 85th year.

Above: Jennifer Koh – I borrowed this stunning photo from her Facebook page

Violinist Jennifer Koh then took the stage for the Barber, my enduring favorite among all the violin concertos I have heard thru the years. Ms. Koh looked striking in a silver-gray gown, her hair a bright, fiery red.

This was Barber’s first effort in the concerto genre, written on a 1939 commission for the then-astonishing sum of $1000. When the originally scheduled soloist, Iso Briselli, found the concerto’s third movement too short and inconsequential, the work was premiered in 1941 by Albert Spalding; it was great success, and became one of Barber’s most beloved works, perhaps second only to his Adagio for Strings.

Aside from concert performances, I have heard this music many times at New York City Ballet, where in 1988 Peter Martins premiered his ballet of the same title at the Company’s American Music Festival. The ballet brings together a pair of ballet dancers and a pair of bare-footed modern dancers. The original cast starred Merrill Ashley and Adam Lüders as the classical couple, and Paul Taylor Dance Company’s delightful Kate Johnson and the charismatic choreographer/dancer David Parsons as the modern couple. Tonight’s performance was spectacular both for Ms. Koh’s fascinating way with the music, and for Maestro Laredo’s savvy exploration of the score, which allowed us to savour the composer’s gift for orchestral detail.

Ms. Koh’s timbre has a vast colour-palette, ranging from burnished purple to shimmering silver. The very opening note of the piece always intrigues me, as Barber has the piano intone the first phrase along with the violin; Bo Zhang, at the Steinway, highlighted the keyboard’s participation throughout the concerto.

Ms. Koh’s playing of the familiar opening melody immediately seized my imagination; her tone has a special, spiritual quality that always gives meaning to the music. The gorgeous main theme, played by the entire orchestra, inevitably stirs my soul. Oboe (William Dunlop) and clarinet (Keyu (Frank) Tao) sing clearly over a steady pulse; violin and piano mesh, Ms. Koh rising to a shining top note. Pianist and violinist unite. The music turns grand, with a huge build-up and then my favorite moment of all: a dramatic plunge to the basses’ deepest notes. Now Ms. Koh’s violin hovers on high, descends, rises again to a delicate, suspended note; her cadenza is entrancing. Oboe, clarinet, and timpani draw us on to the movement’s conclusion. Throughout, the pianist has managed to be both prominent and unobtrusive…really impressive.

Mr. Dunlop’s playing of the oboe solo that opens the Andante was hauntingly beautiful. The celli take up the theme, the basses sound richly, the horn solo (Engelberth Mejia-Gonzalez) glows. Out of the marvelous sonic blend, Ms. Koh’s violin rises poignantly to a shimmering trill as the trumpet (Bailey Cates) and piano interject before the violinist takes up the andante‘s opening melody with heart-rending passion. A sense of grandeur fills the hall. But then, a loudly dropped object somewhere upstairs killed the movement’s marvelous finish. Why do these things always happen at the worst possible moment?

The timpani commences the final, brief Presto, in the course of which Ms. Koh plays what feels like thousands of notes with amazing dexterity and commitment. The celli scamper up the scale. So many notes! All this rhythmic energy comes to a sudden halt after a final violin flourish.

The audience cheered Ms. Koh’s intense and thrilling performance. My companion – who had played the Barber in his schooldays – and I were feeling a kind of elated exhaustion, and so we took leave of Carnegie Hall for 2024.

~ Oberon

December 28, 2024
Dances We Dance @ Graham Studio Theatre

Above: dancer Kathleen Caragine in Water Study, photo by Steven Pisano

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday November 24th, 2024 matinee – Francesca Todesco’s company Dances We Dance presenting ACQUA, a program of danceworks inspired by water. This evening’s afternoon’s was a performance that celebrated sisterhood and helped ease the after-effects of a painful recent election, in which women’s causes that seemed set to flourish under a Harris administration now seem destined for setbacks in the years ahead.

Above: the ensemble in Water Study, photo by Steven Pisano

The program presented a set of dances inspired by or alluding to themes relating to water, which – since the earliest beginnings of dance – have evoked or reveled in this essential element. From the rain dances of the ancient tribes to Chris Wheeldon’s After The Rain… and Caterina Rago’s Alta Marea, water has been a constant source of inspiration in the dance community.

As part of this exploration, the audience today experienced the re-staging of Doris Humphrey’s renowned 1928 choreography Water Study, performed by a cast of 11 dancers under the direction of master teacher Gail Corbin. This was preceded by a showing of Isadora Duncan’s 1905 piece Water Study, which has an improvisational feeling. As staged by Francesca Todesco, this opens to the sound of dripping water.

As music of Schubert sounds, the lights slowly come up to reveal the dancers prone on the floor. Wearing blue/green costumes, they slowly rise and – as projections of the sea appear on screen – they come and go, executing fleeting steps and creating waves of movement suggesting the ebb and flow of the sea. A Schubert waltz sounds, and the dancers assume an ecstatic pose.

Above: the dancers in Doris Humphrey’s Water Study; photo by Steven Pisano

Silence falls as the Humphrey piece commences: the kneeling dancers awaken, the sound of their breathing hangs gently on the air. One by one they rise. Forming opposing lines, they race towards each other like tempest-tossed waves converging. They run en masse from corner to corner, as if crashing against sea walls. Standing, they sway from side to side to the sounds of their own breath. Then they fold into kneeling poses and the ballet ends as it began. Kudos to Ms. Corbin for bringing the fascinating work to currency.

Above: from Catherine Gallant’s Wave; the dancers are Colleen Edwards, Rosey Gentle, and Kathleen Caragine; photo by Steven Pisano

The next three works were finely contrasted but they had one thing in common: each was so visually and musically enjoyable that they felt too short!

Wave, a 2001 work choreographed by Catherine Gallant, is an homage to Isadora with a contemporary touch. Three dancers – Kathleen Caragine, Colleen Edwards, and Rosy Gentle – are posed in a pool of light at the start. To the sounds of a Chopin mazurka, these beauties dance nobly and expressively in tunic-like costumes. They collapse and rise, evoking visions of Wagner’s Rhinemaidens, their faces are at once youthful and ancient: a sisterhood of goddesses. As the light fades, they return to their opening pose.

Above: choreographer Catherine Gallant in an iconic photo

I was ever so happy to see Catherine this evening; I felt reassured after speaking with her: now more than ever we must be there for one another. I told Catherine of the beautiful “Isadora” photo I have of her on my bookcase shelf (above); I can look up from my desk all thru the day and see her in that ecstatic pose.

Above: from Crosscurrents; the dancers are Jada Alfred, Marley Poku-Kankam, Autumn Rodrigue, and Alana Averett; photo by Steven Pisano

Crosscurrents, choreographed by Hannah Howell, brought forth four lovely young ladies, each with a distinctive personality. To a wonderfully weird and quirky score by Angel Bat David, the dancers create movement patterns and dance in diagonal formations. The sound of the clarinet takes over – I love it! – and standing in a line up, each dancer has a brief solo. The music is incredibly evocative, it sings of solidarity. The stage becomes sun-drenched as the dancers fall and then resume their initial pose.

Above: Lana Hankinson in Tidal Pool; photo by Steven Pisano

Tidal Pool, set to deeply lyrical music by Yumira and choreographed by Rae Ballard, was danced by a quintet that featured Mlles. Caragine, Edwards, and Gentle joined by guest dancers Lana Hankinson and Lauren Naslund. The gentle flow of the dance created a sense of quiet serenity whilst the music evokes a luxuriant feeling of peace. Nearing the end, Ms. Naslund walks slowly forward center-stage while one by one the other dancer cross her path and depart, leaving her alone onstage with an expression of quiet wonderment. I’ve always been an admirer of Ms. Naslund, more so today than ever. Her calm beauty has the enviable gift of timeless grace.

Following the interval, Francesca Todesco’s brand new Cherchez La Femme (above photo by Steven Pisano) was danced by Mlles. Edwards, Gentle, and Caragine.These three women have developed into artists of high quality, thoroughly comfortable and assured onstage. Each has something personal to say, making their dancing really fascinating to watch.

Colleen Edwards (above, photo by Steven Pisano), so impressive in the Gallant piece earlier in the program, was riveting here. As the Todesco trio commenced against a golden backdrop, the white-clad Ms. Edwards stood in the light, casting her shadow. She is joined by the other two, and shadow-play becomes a part of their movement.

Ms. Edwards has the first solo: each character has a name, and she is Simonetta. To softly cascading piano motifs, her dancing is truly mesmerizing. She rushes about the space and finally withdraws as Ms. Gentle, clad in red as Camille, enters frantically, as if being pursued…she immediately collapses. A questing search and a plea reveal her desperation. Rising, she appears hesitant, as if seeking something…or someone. To music of Chopin, the search becomes a plea. Ms. Gentle’s dancing seemed to reveal her heart and soul to us.

Now we meet Artemisia: fair of face, Ms. Caragine’s black hair sets off her expressive eyes; she moves beautifully, with a ballerina’s poise, as the steps and gestures flow on the music. The trio re-unite, Ms. Gentle now back in her white frock, as the dance moves to its finish.

Here are more images from Cherchez la femme, photos by Steven Pisano:

Rosy Gentle

Kathleen Caragine

Mlles. Edwards, Gentle, and Caragine in Cherchez La Femme

Above: Francesca Todesco in Memories; photo by Steven Pisano

Ms. Todesco then took the stage alone to premiere a new solo choreographed by Rae Ballard to the always welcome music of Astor Piazzolla. Entitled Memories, this solo finds the dancer clad in severe black with black pumps; she seems like a widow, alone in her grief, recalling happier times The music has a lamenting feeling and becomes quite lush; a hint of a tango is woven in. Francesca’s innate musicality, with her expressive hands and face, creates a mood of longing. At times, she seemed to be dancing just for me.

Above, the sirens of Haunted Echoes: Colleen Edwards, Margherita Tisato, Kathleen Caragine, and Rosy Gentle; photo by Steven Pisano

Closing the program was a newly commissioned work choreographed by the beloved former Paul Taylor star Annmaria Mazzini. This is Haunted Echoes, set to musical collage which propels a dance of the sirens – bewitching creatures all in sea-green. Drifting about the space, they pause to sing their alluring song. A big beat springs up and the dancing turns wild. And then the music becomes a bluesy lullaby, and the dancers drift off, a sisterhood lost at sea.

On an evening that meant a lot to me, it was especially nice to greet the inimitable Jim May, who I’d only met once before, many, many moons ago at a Sokolow rehearsal. Tonight, it felt like a reunion of long-lost brothers.

Performance photos by Steven Pisano.

~ Oberon

November 24, 2024
Batiashvili/Mäkelä/Royal Concertgebouw

Above: Lisa Batiashvili, photo by Sammy Hart/DG

~ Author: Oberon

Friday November 22nd, 2024 – Tonight at Carnegie Hall, the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra opened their program with the US premiere of Body Cosmic by the orchestra’s composer-in-residence, Ellen Reid. One of my all-time favorite musicians, Lisa Batiashvili, then offered Prokofiev’s Violin Concerto No. 2. Following the interval, the Concertgebouw’s Chief Conductor Designate Klaus Mäkelä led a seemingly endless performance of Rachmaninoff’s 2nd Symphony.

Annoyances put us in a bad mood as we waited for the concert to begin: the Hall was freezing cold, and the start time ran late. Then came the silly tradition of the musicians making an entrance, obliging the audience to applaud as they leisurely took their places. Most people don’t get applause just for showing up at their job. After the music started, a squirmy (but silent) little girl next to us had a squeaky seat that made a metallic grinding noise every time she moved, whilst the young man behind us kept kicking the backs of our seats (he must have been man-spreading to cover so much territory). At last the house lights dimmed, and the conductor took the podium.

The US premiere of Ms. Reid’s Body Cosmic was indeed what – back in the days of smoke and wine – we’d have called kozmic. The piece has a magical start, with rising passages lifting us out of the ordinary world into an airy, buzzy higher place. Is that a vibraphone I hear?

A key player in the work is the Concertgebouw’s harpist, though I cannot tell you which of the orchestra’s two principals was playing since my view of her was blocked by her harp. Meshing with the flutes, the harp evokes a drifting feeling. The concertmaster – or ‘leader’ as he is listed in the Playbill – Vesko Eshkenazi, has much to do in this 15 minute piece, and his sound has a luminosity that delights the ear. Likewise, the trumpet soloist is really impressive, though again their are two possibilities listed in the roster.

The music becomes increasingly rich in texture; it’s beautiful in an other-worldly sense. Muted trombones sigh, and then things get a bit jumbled. The violins, on a sustained high tone, clear the air. The harp again makes heavenly sounds, as distant chimes are heard. Flutes and high violins have a counter-poise in the deep basses (the Concertgebouw’s basses are particularly impressive). The music comes to a full stop.

A violin phrase sets the second movement on its way; did someone whistle? The flutes trill and shimmer, with the concertmaster playing agitato; the basses and celli plumb the depths. The music turns fluttery, and then brass fanfares sound. A continuous beat signals a sonic build-up; with large-scale brass passages, things turn epic, only to fade as the harp sounds and the flutes resume their trilling. The world seems to sway, the trumpeter trills. A march-like beat springs up and then speeds up, evoking a sense of urgency. Following a sudden stop, a massive chord sounds: thunderous drums seem to announce a massive finish, but Body Cosmic ends with a solitary note from the violin.

I can’t begin to tell you how absorbing and ear-pleasing this music was: so much going on, and all of it perfectly crafted and fantastically played. The composer, who was awarded the 2019 Pulitzer Prize in Music for her opera, p r i s m, looked positively dishy in her unique blue and white frock – which featured a leggy mini-skirt and a charming train – when she was called onto the stage for a bow. She was greeted by both the audience and the players themselves with fervent applause. Ben Weaver, who is with me – and who is often resistant to “new music” – admitted that he’d enjoyed it.

Ms. Batiashvili then took the stage, having stepped out of the pages of Vogue in her stunning black gown: the very picture of elegance. Back in the days when Alan Gilbert was in charge of the NY Phil, Lisa appeared there often; she and the Maestro had a very special rapport, and I recalled how much I always loved to watch their interaction…almost like partners in a dance. Ms. Batiashvili sounds as gorgeous as she looks; her timbre has a particular fragrance, something no other violinist of my experience can quite capture.

The Prokofiev concerto opens with the soloist playing alone: a hushed lament. The ensemble joins, taking up the theme. As the music becomes more animated, the violin sails thru fast figurations over the beating accompaniment of the basses. The music slows, and a fresh mood is then established, rather jaunty, with the soloist busily employed with reams of notes or with lyrical motifs, whilst unison basses and celli add a darker colour. Fanfares sound, and with Ms. Batiashvili playing at high-speed, everything breezes along…and then the music stalls. The low strings get things back on track, carrying the movement to a quirky finish.

The Andante assai is a gracious slow dance; it has a dotty start as the familiar theme sounds over plucking strings. Ms. Batiashvili was mesmerizing here, her control and phrasing so enticing: both her presence and her playing tell of her innate grace and loveliness. This theme then repeats itself, now with the feel of a swaying rubato, and here Lisa is just plain magical. A sort of da capo finds the orchestra taking up the theme and the violin playing rhythm.

In Prokofiev’s final Allegro ben marcato, Ms. Batiashvili dazzled us with with her virtuosity. Introducing fresh colours to the music, the composer adds castanets, the triangle, and the snare drum to his sonic delights. In a fascinating passage, Lisa’s slithering scales are underscored by the bass drum and double bass before we are swept along into the finale.

Having put us under her spell for a half-hour, Ms. Batiashvili responded to our heartfelt applause with a Bach encore (I’ll have the details of the piece soon, hopefully…and some photos, too!) and then she was called back for a final bow, the musicians joining the audience in homage to this sublime artist.

Update: Lisa’s encore was J. S. Bach’s Chorale Prelude on “Ich ruf’ zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ” (arranged for Violin and Strings by Anders Hillborg).

Following a drawn-out interval, the Rachmaninoff 2nd made its deep start with the strings and horns sounding darkly gorgeous. I was taking notes, thoroughly engaged in the music. But after a while, things began to wear thin. The playing was simply grand – the solo voices among the orchestra all marvelous – and so is the music…so why am I losing my focus? By the time the big, ultra-familiar cinematic theme of the Adagio commenced, I was getting restless. It all seemed like too much of a good thing. The final movement was a succession of ‘finales’ which turn out to be culs de sac, forcing the players back to the main road, seeking an exit.

After nearly an hour, the symphony ended to an enormous ovation and everyone in the Hall immediately leapt to their feet. My sidekick Ben Weaver and I hastened out into the rain. Ben was actually angry about the way the Rachmaninoff was done; he blamed the conductor. Then he told me that the composer had realized the work was too long and had later sanctioned cuts; tonight we’d heard the original, which is what made the music – which has a richness of themes and of orchestration that would normally thrill me (and it did, for the first quarter-hour) – feel like overkill to me. Often a composer’s second thoughts are more congenial to the ear than his original concept.

~ Oberon

November 22, 2024
Parlando: Night Music @ Merkin Hall

~ Author: Lili Tobias

Thursday September 26th, 2024 – A wonderful night to spend listening to Parlando’s Night Music! Led by conductor Ian Niederhoffer, Parlando is a one-of-a-kind orchestra that strives to introduce listeners to underrepresented works through inventive programming and spoken introductions that provide context for each piece. As is standard for the ensemble, Thursday’s program featured a wide range of classical music all united under the theme of “night” (and this concert covered a span of just over 200 years!).

The concert opened with the Nocturne from Fauré’s The Shylock Suite, Op. 57. I was unfamiliar with this piece, but it was a pleasure to hear for the first time. The orchestra played with an exceedingly delicate and precise tone. Though the piece was quiet all the way through, every note was clearly audible throughout the hall.

Next was Takemitsu’s By The Sea, which I was really looking forward to (and it didn’t disappoint)! In the past, I’ve seen some of Takemitsu’s chamber music scores and have always been blown away by how beautiful the written music itself is. This was my first time hearing any piece of his live, and any conception of how I thought the written music might sound was eclipsed by the incredible real-life sounds of the orchestra and two soloists. When introducing By The Sea, Niederhoffer mentioned that the first version of this piece was a duo between flute and guitar, and I could still feel the chamber music-like qualities present in the orchestral re-arrangement. The soloists and the strings lead each other back and forth in a constant ebb and flow of dynamic swells—just like the waves of the ocean the piece was inspired by.

Flautist Yoobin Son and harpist Parker Ramsay (photo above by Crios Photography) then joined the orchestra once more for the second movement from Mozart’s Concerto for Flute, Harp, and Orchestra in C Major, K. 299. I was especially impressed with Son’s incredible phrasing and expressive playing, which brought this intensely lyrical movement to another level. (She also wore a stunning lilac dress from designer Issey Miyake which seemed to float and dance along to the music.)

The final piece on the program, Bartók’s Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta, Sz. 106, was a pleasant surprise. As someone who is not generally a fan of Bartók, I happened to love this piece. However, even after learning a bit about the social context surrounding its composition, I had a very different emotional response to the music. While the first movement wasn’t quite my cup of tea (especially after having had to sightread the fugue subject once for a musicianship class in college!), I greatly enjoyed the second, third, and fourth movements. The second and fourth I found especially fun—a stark contrast with the anguish Bartok may have intended it to convey. My ears latched onto the driving rhythms and confident percussive attacks and interpreted the music as lively and powerful, in a predominantly positive way.

The orchestra was met with a well-deserved standing ovation at the end, and the concert was followed by a lively reception. While there was talk during the reception of finding a larger venue for future Parlando concerts, I actually think that smaller-scale performances could be a huge benefit towards Niederhoffer’s vision. A more intimate concert space could help open up dialogue between the musicians, audience, and even composers if they’re still living. As an audience member, I felt a bit boxed in by the spoken introductions to each piece—almost as if I was being told what to feel rather than encouraged to react to the music in my own way. While I completely understand the value in providing this musical context to the audience, I think there is a lot of further potential to create a more multi-faceted dialogue that draws from the diverse backgrounds and unique interpretations of both the musicians and the audience members. I’m excited to see what the future of Parlando holds!

~ Lili Tobias

September 27, 2024