Category: Opera

Rehearsal: Cantanti Project’s EURIDICE

Above: love triumphant as Euridice (Joyce Yin) and Orfeo (Aumna Iqbal) are reunited, to the delight of the nymphs. Photo by Travis Magee from a studio rehearsal of the Cantanti Project‘s production of Caccini’s EURIDICE

~ Author: Oberon

Friday February 16th, 2018 – This evening, photographer Travis Magee and I stopped in at a rehearsal for the Cantanti Project‘s upcoming performances of Giulio Caccini’s EURIDICE.

The earliest opera for which a complete score survives, this work is being presented by the singer-driven ensemble of the Cantanti Project on February 23rd, 24th, and 25th, 2018, at the Alchemical Studios,104 West 14th Street, here in New York City. For tickets, click here. Once on the order page, apply this discount code when ordering: EURIDICE5OFF. This code gives the user $5 off per ticket when two or more tickets are purchased.

Giulio Caccini got the upper hand on his rival composer, Jacopo Peri – who had already written his own EURIDICE in 1600, but hadn’t gotten it published – by hurriedly preparing his own setting of Ottavio Rinuccini’s libretto and getting it published six weeks before Peri’s version appeared. Caccini’s EURIDICE was first performed at the Pitti Palace, Florence, on December 5th, 1602.

Conducted by Dylan Sauerwald, with musicians from Dorian Baroque, the production is directed by Bea (Brittány) Goodwin, with costumes by Alexandria Hoffman. The singers are Michael Celentano, Tom Corbeil, Lydia Dahling, Daniela DiPasquale, Brittany Fowler, Marques Hollie, Aumna Iqbal, Fiona Gillespie Jackson, Elyse Anne Kakacek, Laura Mitchell, Joyce Yin, and Sara Lin Yoder.

In Caccini’s setting of the immortal myth of the singer Orfeo, the hero descends to the underworld and pleads with Pluto for the return of his beloved Euridice, who has perished after having been bitten by a snake. Pluto’s wife, Prosperina, takes Orfeo’s side and persuades her husband to restore Euridice to life. Unlike the Gluck opera, where Orfeo fails to obey the command not to look at Euridice until they have left the realm of the dead – with dire consequences – in the Caccini setting the lovers return safely to their friends for a happy ending.

The Muse of Tragedy (Fiona Gillespie Jackson) sings the Prologue

Euridice (Joyce Yin) receives flowers from her friends

Nymph and shepherd (above, Lydia Dahling and Marques Hollie)

Orfeo (Aumna Iqbal) on the lookout for his beloved Euridice, who has wandered off

Daphne (Elyse Kakacek) reveals the sad news of Euridice’s death

The nymphs lament the fate of Euridice

Sara Lin Yoder and Tom Corbeil

Fiona Gillespie Jackson

Daniela DiPasquale and Elyse Kakacek

Arcetro (Laura Mitchell) urges Orfeo to pursue Euridice in the underworld

Elyse Kakacek and Brittany Fowler encourage Orfeo (Aumma Iqbal)

Brittany Fowler

Orfeo’s resolve (Aumna Iqbal)

Supplication: Orfeo (Ms. Iqbal) implores Prosperina (Lydia Dahling), Pluto (Tom Corbeil), and Charon (Michael Celentano) to return Euridice to him

Pluto (Tom Corbeil) accedes to Orfeo’s pleas

Euridice (Joyce Yin) lives again

Amyntas (Marques Hollie) assures the nymphs and shepherds that Euridice will soon be back among them

Her friends await Euridice’s return: Lydia Dahling, Tom Corbeil, Brittany Fowler, Sara Lin Yoder

Sisterhood: Lydia Dahling, Elyse Kakacek, Brittany Fowler, Fiona Gillespie Jackson, Daniela DiPasquale, and Laura Mitchell

The opera’s happy end: Aumna Iqbal and Joyce Yin

All photography by Travis Magee.

~ Oberon

February 18, 2018
PARSIFAL @ The Met

Above: the Grail revealed: Peter Mattei as Amfortas and Rene Pape as Gurnemanz in Wagner’s PARSIFAL; a Ken Howard/Met Opera photo

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday February 17th, 2018 matinee – A powerful and thoroughly absorbing matinee performance of PARSIFAL, the only Wagner in the Metropolitan Opera’s repertory this season. This dark, barren, and brooding production premiered in 2013, at which time the total absence of a Grail temple from the scenic narrative seemed truly off-putting. All of the action of the outer acts takes place out-of-doors, whilst the second act – as we were told by someone who worked on the production at the time it was new – is set inside Amfortas’s wound.

Not everything in the production works, and the desolate landscape of the final act – with its open graves – is dreary indeed. But the devotional rites of the Grail brothers in Act I and the stylized movements of the Flowermaidens in the blood-drenched ‘magic garden’ of Act II are engrossing – especially today, where I found a personal link to both scenes.

Musically, it was a potent performance despite a couple of random brass blips. Since the 2013 performances, I’ve been going to a lot of symphonic and chamber music concerts and this has greatly enhanced my appreciation of the orchestra’s work whenever I am at the opera. From our perch directly over the pit today, I greatly enjoyed watching the musicians of the Met Orchestra as they played their way thru this endlessly fascinating score.

The Met’s soon-to-be music director, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, was on the podium this afternoon, and he seemed to inspire not only the orchestra, but also the principals, chorus, dancers, and supers all of whom worked devotedly to sustain the atmosphere of the long opera. While I did not feel the depth of mystery that I have experienced in past performances of this work conducted by James Levine or Daniele Gatti, in Maestro Nézet-Séguin’s interpretation the humanity of the music seemed to be to the fore. This meshes well with the physical aspects of the production, which strongly and movingly depicts the fraternity of the Grail and the desperate suffering of Amfortas. The orchestra’s poetic playing as Gurnemanz sings of the slaying of the swan was but one passage of many where I felt the music so deeply. And the transformation music of Act I was particularly thrilling to hear today.

The singing all afternoon was at a very high level, with the unfortunate exception of the Kundry of Evelyn Herlitzius. We’d previously heard her as Marie in WOZZECK, but Kundry’s music – especially in Act II – needs singing that has more seductive beauty than Ms. Herlitzius delivered. The soprano’s one spectacular vocal moment – “Ich sah Ihn – Ihn – und…lachte!“, where she tells how she had seen Christ on the cross and laughed – was truly thrilling, but not enough to compensate for her tremulous, throaty singing elsewhere.

Above: In Klingsor’s Magic Garden, tenor Klaus Florian Vogt as Parsifal; a Met Opera photo

In 2006, Klaus Florian Vogt made an unforgettable Met debut as Lohengrin, and this afternoon as Parsifal the tenor again sang lyrically in a role that is normally sung by tenors of the more helden- type. The almost juvenile sound Vogt’s voice underscored Parsifal’s innocence; this worked especially well in Act I, and also brought us some beautiful vocalism in Act II. As Kundry’s efforts to seduce become more urgent, Vogt’s singing took on a more passionate colour. In his struggle between steadfastness and capitulation, the tenor’s cry of “Erlöse, rette mich, aus schuldbefleckten Händen!” (‘Redeem me, rescue me from hands defiled by sin!’) pierced the heart with his dynamic mastery.

Kundry’s wiles fail her, and with an upraised hand, Parsifal fends off Klingsor’s spear-wielding assault. Seizing the weapon that wounded Amfortas, the young man cries out “Mit diesem Zeichen bann’ ich deinen Zauber!” (‘With this Sign I banish your magic!’); the bloody back-lighting dissolves to white and Klingsor is cast down. Turning to Kundry, Mr. Vogt’s Parsifal has the act’s final line of premonition: “Du weisst, wo du mich wiederfinden kannst!” (‘You know where you can find me again’) and he strides out into the world to commence his long, labored journey back to the realm of the Grail. In the final act, Mr. Vogt’s expressive singing was a balm to the ear, lovingly supported by the conductor and orchestra.

Above: Rene Pape as Gurnemanz, in a Ken Howard/Met Opera photo

Repeating the roles they created when this production premiered in 2013, Rene Pape (Gurnemanz) and Peter Mattei (Amfortas) were again superb. Mr. Pape now measures out his singing of this very long part more judiciously than he has in the past, at times allowing the orchestra to cover him rather than attempting to power thru. But in the long Act I monolog, “Titurel, der fromme Held…”, the basso’s tone flowed like honey; and later, at “Vor dem verwaisten Heiligtum, in brünst’gem Beten lag Amfortas...” (‘Before the looted sanctuary, Amfortas lay in fervent prayer’) Mr. Pape’s emotion-filled delivery struck at the heart of the matter. Throughout Act III, leading to the consecrational baptism of Parsifal, Mr. Pape was at his finest.

Peter Mattei’s Amfortas (in a Ken Howard/Met Opera photo above) is truly one of the great operatic interpretations I have ever experienced, for it is not only magnificently sung but acted with matchless physicality and commitment. The guilt and suffering Mr. Mattei conveys both with his voice and his body is almost unbearable to experience in its intensity and sense of reality.

After a desperate show of resistance to calls for the Grail to be revealed in Act I, Amfortas – in abject anguish – performs the rite; his strength spent, he staggers offstage and as he does so, he locks eyes with Parsifal, the man who will succeed him as keeper of the Grail: one of the production’s most telling moments. And in the final act, Mr. Mattei throws himself into the open grave of his father, Titurel, as he begs for death to release him from his eternal suffering; this horrifies the assembled Grail knights. Such moments make for an unforgettable interpretation, yet in the end it’s the Mattei voice that sets his Amfortas in such a high echelon.

Evgeny Nikitin’s Klingsor (above), creepy and thrilling in 2013, incredibly was even better in this revival. The voice was flung into the House with chilling command, and the bass-baritone’s physical domination of his bloody realm and his hapless female slaves was conveyed with grim authority. His demise was epic.

Alfred Walker sang splendidly as the unseen Titurel, and I was very glad that he appeared onstage for the bows so I could bravo him for his wonderful outpourings of tone. Another offstage Voice, that of Karolina Pilou – who repeats the prophetic line “Durch Mitleid wissend…der reine Tor!” (‘Enlightened through compassion, the innocent fool…’) to end Act I – had beauty of tone, though the amplification was less successful here.

The Squires ( Katherine Whyte, Sarah Larsen, Scott Scully, and Ian Koziara) were excellent, especially as they harmonized on the emblematic “Durch Mitleid wissend…” theme, and the Flowermaidens sounded lovely, led with ethereal vocal grace by Haeran Hong. Mark Schowalter and Richard Bernstein were capital Knights, and I must again mention Mr. Bernstein’s terrific voice and physical presence as a singer underutilized by the Met these days. His lines ths afternoon were few, yet always on the mark; and in Act III, helping to bear the shrouded body of his late lord Titurel to its grave, Mr. Bernstein seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulder.

What gave the performance a deep personal dimension for me today was finding two dancers I have known for some time – David Gonsier and Nicole Corea – onstage in Acts I and II respectively. By focusing on them – Mr. Gonsier as a young Grail knight and Ms. Corea as a delicious Blumenmädchen – the ‘choreography’ given to these two groups became wonderfully clear and meaningful.

I first spotted Mr. Gonsier seated in the circle of knights; my imagination was immediately seized by the rapture evident in his eyes. For long, long stretches of the first act, I could not tear my gaze away from him as his mastery of the reverential gestural language and the deep radiance of his facial expressions spoke truly of what it means to be a knight of the Holy Grail. Amazingly, out of all the men I might have zeroed in on among the brotherhood, Mr. Gonsier was the last of the knights to leave the stage as Act I drew to an end: he received a personal blessing from Gurnemanz and their eyes met ever-so-briefly. So deeply moving.

Ms. Corea is beloved in the Gotham danceworld for her work with Lar Lubovitch; I ran into her on the Plaza before the performance today and she assured me I’d be seeing her this Spring at The Joyce as Mr. Lubovitch celebrates his 50th anniversary of making dances. Incredibly, within two seconds of the Act II curtain’s rise on the identically clad and be-wigged Flowermaidens standing in a pool of blood, I found Nicole right in my line of vision. Both in her compelling movement and her captivating face, Nicole became the icon of this band of bewitching beauties.

Whilst hailing some of the unsung cast members of the afternoon, mention must be made of the two heroic supers who literally keep Amfortas alive and mobile, frequently taking the full weight of the ailing man as he struggles to fulfill his dreaded duties as Lord of the Grail. Great work, gentlemen!

Much of the libretto of PARSIFAL‘s outer acts today seems like religious mumbo-jumbo. It’s the music – especially the ending of Act I – that most clearly speaks to us (and even to an old atheist like me) of the possibility of God’s existence. Perhaps He has simply given up on mankind, as His name – and his word – have been sullied in recent years by those very people who claim to revere him. Wagner may have foreseen all this, as he once wrote: “Where religion becomes artificial, it is reserved for Art to save the spirit of religion.”

At the end of Act I of today’s PARSIFAL, I momentarily questioned my disbelief. But then the applause – which I’ve always hated to hear after such a spiritual scene – pulled me back to reality. I’d much rather have stayed there, in Montsalvat.

Metropolitan Opera House Saturday February 17th, 2018 matinee
PARSIFAL Richard Wagner Parsifal................Klaus Florian Vogt Kundry..................Evelyn Herlitzius Amfortas................Peter Mattei Gurnemanz...............René Pape Klingsor................Evgeny Nikitin Titurel.................Alfred Walker Voice...................Karolina Pilou First Esquire...........Katherine Whyte Second Esquire..........Sarah Larsen Third Esquire...........Scott Scully Fourth Esquire..........Ian Koziara First Knight............Mark Schowalter Second Knight...........Richard Bernstein Flower Maidens: Haeran Hong, Deanna Breiwick, Renée Tatum, Disella Lårusdóttir, Katherine Whyte, Augusta Caso
Conductor...............Yannick Nézet-Séguin

~ Oberon

February 17, 2018
WALKURE: Act I @ The New York Philharmonic

Above: tenor Simon O’Neill

~ Author: Oberon

Thursday February 15th, 2018 – We’ve been starved for Wagner of late, but now – in the course of a single week – we’ve had Dorothea Röschmann singing the Wesendonck Lieder, The New York Philharmonic offering Act I of DIE WALKURE (tonight), and, coming up: a matinee of PARSIFAL at The Met.

This evening’s Philharmonic program opened with Pulitzer Prize-winner John Luther Adams’s Dark Waves, music which readily brings to mind the opening of Wagner’s DAS RHEINGOLD. Long, deep notes are the sustaining quality throughout the piece’s twelve-minute span. Beyond that, horn calls on fifths and the brief tweeting of the piccolo emerge thru the murky, at times almost mechanical, layers of sound. The volume ebbs and flows, at times becoming massive. This is music that surely casts a spell, though one patron was apparently not pleased and expressed himself with high, hooting boos that became comical after a bit.

The Philharmonic’s new music director, Jaap van Zweden, yet again proved himself a Wagnerian of great skill and commitment. His presentation of the WALKURE Act I tonight was so alive – right from the rather fast tempo he chose for the score’s opening pages depicting Siegmund being tracked by his enemies – and the orchestra played superbly.

Six harps are onstage, and, as the Act progressed, we had marvelous solo moments from Carter Brey (cello), Anthony McGill (clarinet), Amy Zoloto (bass clarinet), and Liang Wang (oboe) as well as some noble calls from the horns.

As Hunding, John Relyea’s dark, menacing tone poured forth, full of irony and vitriol: this courteous host will likely stick a knife in your ribs given the opportunity. As with his magnificent Bartok Bluebeard at Carnegie Hall a year ago, Mr. Relyea proved himself yet again to be a singer of great vocal and physical command. One moment summarized the brilliance of Mr. Relyea’s portrayal: after Siegmund has told his history to Sieglinde, ending tenderly with “Nun weißt du, fragende Frau,warum ich Friedmund nicht heiße!” (‘Now you know, gentle wife, why I can never be called Peaceful.’), Hunding/Relyea interrupts the twins’ mutual attraction, singing venomously: “Ich weiß ein wildes Geschlecht!” (‘I know of your riotous race!’). Hunding’s denunciation of his guest, and his promise to slay him at dawn, drew black-toned vocalism from the basso.

Ten years have passed since I first heard Simon O’Neill’s Siegmund at a matinee performance at The Met. Both in voice and interpretation, Simon has kept things fresh in this arduous role: his singing – by turns helden or lyrical – is wonderfully present, and his diction and colourings are impressively utilized in the long narrative passages. For Siegmund’s story is a sad tale indeed, and although on this night – when he’s stumbled into Hunding’s hut as a hunted man – he will experience happiness ever so briefly, within hours he will be betrayed to his death by his own father.

Mr. O’Neill makes these stories of loneliness and woe truly poignant; both here and in those passages when heroic tones are called for, he shows himself the equal of any Siegmund of my experience. His cries of “Wälse! Wälse!” in the Sword monolog were excitingly sustained. The cresting, poetic beauty of Simon’s “Winterstürme” and his powerful summoning of Nothung from the tree were highlights of the evening. And then, with van Zweden’s orchestra pulsing away with relentless vitality towards the finish line, Simon latched onto a clarion, hall-filling top-A at “Wälsungen blut!…” to cap the evening.

In 2012, Heidi Melton’s singing of the 3rd Norn in GOTTERDAMMERUNG at The Met gave me reason to believe she could be the next great Wagnerian soprano. But since then, in subsequent encounters, I have found her disappointing. This evening, her physical presence and the voice’s limitations in the upper range drew a blank with me.

So tonight, it was the excellence of the male singers, the thrilling playing of the orchestra, and Maestro van Zweden’s feel for this music that gave Wagner his due.

~ Oberon

February 15, 2018
Dorothea Röschmann @ Zankel Hall

Above: soprano Dorothea Röschmann

~ Author: Oberon

Tuesday February 13th, 2018 – Soprano Dorothea Röschmann in recital at Zankel Hall, with Malcolm Martineau at the piano. This was an evening of music-making of the highest order, for both soprano and pianist are masters of their art, and communicators sans pareil.

Ms. Röschmann made her Metropolitan Opera debut in 2003 as Susanna in NOZZE DI FIGARO and subsequently performed three more Mozart roles there: Pamina, Ilia, and Donna Elvira. She last sang at The Met in 2008. Elsewhere, of late, she has ventured into heavier repertoire including the roles of the Marschallin and Desdemona. I had not heard her live since the Met IDOMENEO, and was very much hoping I would enjoy this re-connection as much as I did hearing her then. She surpassed my highest hopes.

What I loved most about Ms. Röschmann’s singing this evening was her fascinating employment of her vibrato as a means of expression. Within a given phrase, she could mete out the vibrancy, hone it down to straight tone, or unfurl it to full dramatic effect; this gave her singing a panoramic emotional range, from vulnerable or pensive to unstinting grandeur. It’s a wonderfully feminine voice, and her diction and her shading of the texts drew us deeply into each song.

Commencing with Schubert, the soprano’s vibrato in “Heiss mich nicht reden” as the very first seemed a bit prominent; yet by mid-song, Ms. Röschmann’s intuitive manipulation of it was already making its effect. “So lasst mich scheinen” with its gentle start, was lovingly sung. Mr. Martineau’s introduction to “Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt” set the mood for Ms. Röschmann’s singing: so poignant, with the passing anxiety at separation from her beloved fading back to melancholy. The familiar “Kennst du das Land” was magnificent in every way, expressive of the poem’s varying moods, with delicious lower notes and the words so clear and finely-coloured; and Mr. Martineau here was divine.

Singer and pianist left the stage briefly before returning for the final Schubert, “Nachtstück“. This night-song, sung by an old man wandering the woods as Death hovers about him, took on an operatic aspect with Mr. Martineau’s atmospheric playing of the introduction, and the sense of mystery in the soprano’s haunting – and then expansive – singing. The piano evokes the sound of the old man’s harp as the song winds thru major/minor modulations: such moving music to experience.

Above: pianist Malcolm Martineau, photographed by Thomas Oliemans

In Mahler’s Rückert Lieder, Ms. Röschmann’s gifts as a storyteller were abundantly evident. From the playful “Blicke mir nicht in die Lieder” and the gently magical, Springlike joy of “Ich atmet’ einen linden Durftt“, with Mr. Martineau’s sweet postlude, soprano and pianist moved to the drama of “Um mitternacht“. This was profoundly delivered, Ms. Röschmann summoning rich tone for a great outpouring of sound, all the while keeping us under her spell with varying degrees of vibrato; Mr. Martineau’s playing matched the singing in all its glory.

In “Liebst Du Um Schönheit“, the soprano chose to linger slightly from time to time, giving the song a delicious individuality of expression. Then, with the final Mahler, “Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen“, the intrinsic and somewhat unusual beauty of Ms. Röschmann’s voice made this beloved, meaningful poem utterly personal. A touch of lightness here and there was enchanting, her singing so thoughtful and womanly. The end of this song can sometimes be shaded with resignation, but in Ms. Röschmann’s moving singing of the final lines, we instead feel her sense of deep contentment. Mr. Martineau beautifully sustained the poetry with his transportive playing of the postlude.

The second half of the program was given over to songs with words written by women. Robert Schumann’s Gedichte der Königin Maria Stuart, Op. 135. are settings to texts drawn from the letters of Mary, Queen of Scots, written at significant points in her tragic life. Presage of disaster seems a constant force in the Queen’s story, right from her birth. In these Schumann settings, we move from a wistful farewell to France and a hopeful prayer marking the birth of her son, to a dramatic letter Mary wrote to her cousin, Elizabeth I – the cousin who would eventually betray Mary Stuart to her death. This very dramatic song was vividly rendered by Ms. Röschmann and Mr. Martineau, who then progressed to the scene of Mary’s impending execution: in “Abschied von der Welt” – the Queen’s farewell to the world – the pianist’s colourings of reflection and resignation were ideal. The final “Gebet” is a prayer for her own soul: eighteen years a prisoner, Mary Stuart is at last set free by Death. Ms. Röschmann really lived these songs, so deeply that in the end she truly seemed in a trance.

To hear Ms. Röschmann and Mr. Martineau performing Richard Wagner’s Wesendonck Lieder was an experience to cherish. At a point in time when the Metropolitan Opera seems to be so stinting with their Wagner offerings (only PARSIFAL this season), we are always eager to hear the Master’s music where- and when-ever possible.

Just now I am reading Judith Cabaud’s lovely/sad biography of Mathilde Wesendonck, the beautiful young poetess whose relationship with Wagner – whether physical or spiritual – hastened the demise of the composer’s first marriage and, in a way, set the stage for Wagner’s finding his soulmate in Cosima Von Bülow.

Whilst Wagner was living in a small house on the Wesendonck’s Swiss estate, the lives of the composer and Fray Wesendonck became entwined. Mathilde was the inspiration for TRISTAN UND ISOLDE; each day, Wagner would send her a page or two of this opera which he was writing with such feverish diligence. This inspired Mathilde to write a series of poems, which she sent to Wagner, one by one, and which he instantaneously set to music. Then one day, a note from Wagner to his muse was intercepted by Minna Wagner’s servant and that was the beginning of the end – of both the Wagners’ marriage and of his living as the Herr Wesendonck’s guest.

And so we are left with this set of five songs, so marvelously moving in their atmosphere of romantic longing. They were eventually orchestrated, and that is how they are most often heard these days. But my very first exposure to the Wesendonck Lieder came in 1970 when I attended a recital by Dame Janet Baker at Syracuse, New York. Martin Isepp was the pianist. It was a performance I’ll never forget, and hearing this music live again tonight had a “full-circle” feeling, nearly fifty years on.

Ms. Röschmann and Mr. Martineau put us deeply under a Wagnerian spell, commencing with “Der Engel” in which the Röschmann voice entranced with its flickering vibrato, its velvety lower tones, and her expressive power of the poetic. The agitation of “Stehe still!” commenced some sensational playing from Mr. Martineau, and, as the music turned more lyrically yearning, Ms. Röschmann’s singing took on a very personal intimacy, her lower tones having a sensuous smoulder. Mr. Martineau, at the song’s end, was so evocative.

With “Im Triebhaus” we are suddenly borne away to Castle Kareol, the wounded Tristan’s lonely childhood home, where he now awaits his Isolde. The musical introduction to this song was lifted by Wagner directly into the prelude of TRISTAN‘s third act. Here, yet again, the blessings of Ms. Röschmann’s way with words were invaluable. The piano’s harmonic modulations and voice’s gradations of both vibrancy and dynamic created a whole world, with the pianist incredibly poignant. The Röschmann lower notes continued to strike a particularly sensitive spot in my spine, producing tremblings of emotion. And Mr. Martineau’s finishing notes were to die for.

With the passions of “Schmerzen“, Ms. Röschmann’s deeper tones literally tore at the heart, whilst ecstatic playing from Mr. Martineau left the soprano beaming radiantly as the song drew to its close. She lingered in a dreamlike state as the pianist set forth the opening bars of “Träume“. By this point I was breathless, drunk on the sheer beauty of the music, Ms. Röschmann’s heavenly singing, and the tenderness of Mr. Martineau’s playing. Could I not now stay here in their world, in this realm where Wagner and his Mathilde found sanctuary?

My return to reality was blessedly buffered as the deep, very cordial applause of the crowd drew the singer and pianist back for three encores – Liszt, Schumann, and (I believe) Schubert – each lovelier than the last. That we have such music in the world, and such musicians to bring it to us, counts for so much in this day and age.

~ Oberon

February 13, 2018
American Symphony Orchestra Presents ‘Hollow Victory’

Above: composer Mieczysław Weinberg

~ Author: Ben Weaver

Sunday February 29th, 2018 – Leon Botstein and his American Symphony Orchestra always present interesting programming of rarely-performed works. On January 28th, the theme was “Jews in Soviet Russia after the World War” and was perhaps one of their finest concerts. Presented were three works by two composers: first half was dedicated to Mieczysław Weinberg and second half to Vieniamin Fleishman. Both men were close friends with Dmitri Shostakovich, whose influence can be heard in their works.

Mieczysław Weinberg is perhaps the better-known of the two. Born in 1919 in Warsaw, Poland into an artistic family (his father was a conductor and composer of the Yiddish theater and his Ukrainian-born mother was an actress.) During the war his parents and younger sister were interned in the Lodz ghetto and died in the Trawnicki concentration camp. After the war, in the Soviet Union where he settled, Weinberg was arrested by the KGB in 1953. Shostakovich’s personal appeal to Lavrenti Beria – and Stalin’s death soon thereafter – saved Weinberg’s life. Weinberg’s vast musical output includes 22 symphonies, 17 string quartets, 9 violin sonatas, 7 operas, 40 film and animation scores (including for the Palm d’Or-winning film “The Cranes are Flying.”)

Leon Botstein began the concert with Weinberg’s “Rhapsody on Moldavian Themes,” composed in 1949. An ancient state – forced to be one of the Soviet Union’s republics between 1940 and 1991 – Moldavia’s culture is closely related to Romania’s and it’s folk melodies sometimes will bring to mind folk melodies Brahms and Dvořák used in their famous collection of dances. Weinberg’s Rhapsody begins with a drive from the low strings and then an oboe introduces the first mournful theme. The Rhapsody moves easily between the mournful and infectious dance tunes, alternating soaring full string section and solos for individual instruments. There is a definite Klezmer dance tune near the end, which brings the work to an exciting close.

Weinberg’s substantial Symphony No. 5, composed in 1962, without a doubt takes inspiration from Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 4, which though it was premiered in 1961 was composed 25 years earlier, and Weinberg and Shostakovich used to play a two piano arrangement of it for friends long before the premiere. The work opens with a slow “siren,” two repeated notes, from the violins. This motif returns over and over throughout the symphony like a wail of doom, sometimes picked up by other instruments. There are sudden interruptions from the timpani, bringing to mind Mahler’s 6th Symphony. There are beautiful and beautifully-played solos for various instruments, most notably the flute (Yevgeny Faniuk is listed as principal flautist) and horn (Zohar Schondorf)). The Symphony ends with a hushed march, growling trombones and a mysterious celesta.

Veniamin Fleischman was born in 1913 and entered the Leningrad Conservatory in 1939. His teacher, Shostakovich, called Fleishman his favorite student. While a student, on Shostakovich’s suggestion, Fleishman began composing the opera “Rothschild’s Violin,” from a short story by Chekhov. (Fleishman wrote his own libretto.) When the Nazis invaded the USSR in the summer of 1941 Fleishman enlisted in the Red Army and was killed on September 14 near Leningrad. Shostakovich went to great lengths to retrieve Fleishman’s manuscript of the opera. He completed and orchestrated the work in 1943-44, and later went to great lengths to have it performed, though without much success. Its sympathetic portrayal of Jewish people no doubt did not fit comfortably with the Soviet regime. There was one concert performance in Moscow in 1960 and a staged performance did not take place until 1968. Shostakovich wrote in his memoirs: “It’s a marvelous opera – sensitive and sad. There are no cheap effects in it; it is wise and very Chekhovian. I’m sorry that theatres pass over Fleishman’s opera. It’s certainly not the fault of the music, as far as I can see.”

The main character, a Christian coffin maker Yakov Ivanov, undergoes a spiritual crises and something of an awakening. After Yakov’s wife Marfa informs him that she is dying, they both reminisce about their dead child, and Yakov realizes he will have to build his own wife’s coffin. “Life is all loss, only death is gain,” he says. Though Yakov quarrels with Rothschild, the young flautist in the local Jewish orchestra, at the end he leaves Rothschild his most prized possession: the violin, which Rothschild begins to play as the opera ends.

“Rothschild’s Violin” is a magnificent opera. Fleishman, editing Chekov’s story, brilliantly removed all secondary characters and stories, keeping only the story of the coffin-maker. We know nothing even about the young Jew to whom Yakov leaves his violin; nor about Yakov’s wife Marfa, who is dying. This is a story of one man, there are no loungers or pauses in the narrative. It moves quickly through monologues and dialogues, only pausing for Yakov’s final apotheosis where he comes to understand his life and losses. Though the characters, especially Marfa, feel sorry for themselves, there is no sentimentality or cheap dramatic effects. The simplicity of it is what gives the work so much power.

The quartet of singers assembled for the opera was perfect. Bass Mikhail Svetlov (above) was a deeply moving and beautifully sung Yakov. The only native Russian speaker in the cast, he projected the text and all its nuances in a way few can. His is a big, rich voice, with an easy top.

Mezzo-soprano Jennifer Roderer (above) was a plum-voiced Marfa; managing to be both a nagging self-pitying wife and a woman who, perhaps on her deathbed, has obviously suffered so much. What kept flying through my head as she was singing is that Ms. Roderer’s large, beautiful and booming mezzo would make a fantastic Fricka; it is a role she sings and we can only hope she is able to sing it at the Metropolitan Opera (which is supposed to bring back its Ring cycle soon.)

Tenor Marc Heller (above), singing the role of the leader of the Jewish orchestra, would make a pretty good Siegfried. The huge, ringing voice flew easily over the orchestra and Maestro Botstein’s rather unforgiving volume.

Lyric tenor Aaron Blake (above) was a lovely and nervous young Rothschild. There is actually very little for Rothschild to sing, so Mr. Blake made up for it with pantomime acting, particularly at the end after Yakov has gifted him his fiddle (kindly loaned for the proceedings by a violinist on stage), and an extended orchestral postlude (including lovely solo violin playing by concertmaster Gabrielle Fink) summarizes not only Yakov’s sacrifice, but Rothschild’s future. Intentionally or not, there was something quite poetic and moving in the fact that a member of the orchestra gave up her violin and was not able to play the extended orchestral passage in the end, mirroring Yakov’s own losses.

It is also worth nothing that the final orchestral passage goes from being lightly scored and transparent to having a very close resemblance to the searing final moments of Shostakovich’s 5th Symphony.

“Rothschild’s Violin” is a great opera; it deserves to be staged.

~ Ben Weaver

January 31, 2018
Brahms & Dvořák @ Chamber Music Society

Above: Johannes Brahms and Antonín Dvořák

~ Author: Oberon

Tuesday January 30, 2018 – This evening’s highly enjoyable program offered by Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center brought us works by Johannes Brahms and Antonín Dvořák: music for piano 4-hands by each composer, with a piano trio from Brahms and a piano quintet from Dvořák. Six excellent musicians were on hand to delight an audience who had chosen great music over the SOTU.

Pianists Wu Han and Michael Brown shared the Steinway for the opening work: selections from Dvořák’s Slavonic Dances. Wu Han – clad is brilliant red – presided over the lower octaves and Mr. Brown the higher. The chosen Dances, two from opus 46 and two from opus 72, formed a perfect set.

With the joyous opening of opus 46, #1, the cares and concerns of daily life were swept away; this Presto in C-major moves from exuberance to subtlety and back again. The players clearly enjoyed sharing the keyboard: in his program note, Mr. Brown compared playing 4-hands with playing doubles in tennis. And he further remarked that “…sharing one pedal is as strange as someone else brushing your teeth!” This duo got on like a house afire, vying in technical brilliance and relishing the more thoughtful passages. Opus 46, #2 has a darker, E-minor start, but then turns sprightly; Dvořák alternately accelerates and then pumps the brakes throughout this Allegretto scherzando.

The dances of opus 72 are in general less extroverted and rambunctious than those of the 46. The pianists kept to E-minor with #2 which has a lyrical sadness and an emotional pull at first but later becomes sparkly and charming. They rounded off this opening Dvořák set with opus 72, #1, Molto vivace in B-major. This commences with a rocking rhythm and shows fresh vitality before it quietens with some lovely upper-range shimmers only to re-ignite as it hastens to its finish.

For the Piano Trio in C-minor, Op. 101 of Johannes Brahms, Mr. Brown was joined by violinist Paul Huang and cellist Dmitri Atapine. This trio was composed in 1886 while the composer was summering at Hofstetten, Switzerland, and it was premiered in December of that year, with the composer at the piano, Jeno Hubay playing violin, and David Popper as cellist.

The opening Allegro energico begins passionately, and the strings play often in unison. Following an animated passage, there comes a deep melody; the movement ends almost abruptly.

The trio’s second movement starts very quietly, almost hesitantly, the strings are muted and given over to almost sneaky plucking as the piano holds forth. Then violin and cello have a dialogue. The pizzicati recur, and the sotto voce atmosphere of the music is sustained.

The Andante develops yet another conversation: this time between the duetting strings and the piano. All three musicians showed lovely dynamic gradations throughout. Mr. Brown’s dreamy and evocative playing drew sighing motifs from the violin and cello. A sudden burst of passion ends the Andante.

The rhythmic vitality of the concluding Allegro molto undergoes a mood change in an interlude where Mr. Huang’s polished tone could be savoured. Melodious exchanges lead on to a fervent finish. The three players’ sense of fraternity was evinced as they bowed to the audience’s sincere applause.

Following the interval, our two pianists played three of Brahms’ Hungarian Dances. Wu Han and Mr. Brown had switched places on the piano bench, giving Mr. Brown the deeper registers whilst Wu Han shone in the soprano range.

The Poco sostenuto in F-minor commences with a brooding quality, but then speeds up. A witty, almost ‘toy piano’ feeling charms in the central section before a return to the starting point. The music dances on to a fun finale. The Allegretto in A-major has a droll start and some playful hesitations: the two pianists seemed like co-conspirators here. Mr. Brown relished the low melody of the Allegro molto in G-minor whilst Wu Han’s sweetly struck higher notes felt like raindrops. The music then grows lively, with a gypsy lilt.

A sterling performance of Dvořák’s Piano Quintet in A-major, Op. 81 (dating from 1887) made for the evening’s perfect finale, with violinists Chad Hoopes and Paul Huang, violist Matthew Lipman, and cellist Dmitri Atapine joining Wu Han.

Mr. Atapine sets the opening Allegro ma non tanto in motion with a nobly-played cello theme; there follows a warm tutti passage where we’re assured of a beautifully blended performance. Wu Han’s gorgeous playing (throughout) underscores the silken high range of Mr. Hoopes’ violin; then Mr. Lipman takes up a viola theme which is passed to Mr. Hoopes. Pulsing strings lead to an expansive passage; the Hoopes violin sings deliciously. We can revel in the intertwined voices for a few moments before the movement dashes to an ending.

The second movement, Andante con moto, was a source of true magic tonight, with Wu Han again displaying her gifts for creating atmosphere. Mr. Lipman has the melody; a tempo increase brings us duetting violins. Then comes an engrossing passage: Mr. Atapine’s cello sings deep as the violinists pluck; then Mssrs. Hoopes and Atapine sound a gentle, rolling motif in support of Wu Han’s luminous playing. Mr. Lipman takes up the main theme with rich lyricism. A sudden animation is calmed by the limpid piano, and then the ‘engrossing passage’ is repeated, with unbelievable subtlety.

Chad Hoopes sends the Scherzo off with a light touch; Wu Han’s dazzling playing has me under a spell. The viola and cello engage us, Mr. Atapine’s attentiveness and sense of joy in his playing is inspiring to behold. Following a luminous interlude, the cellist propels the Scherzo to a lively finish.

The Finale: Allegro starts with a petite into, and then embarks on a flowing dance. I absolutely loved watching Wu Han here, ever-alert and eyeing her colleagues with affection, she was clearly having a marvelous time of it. The mood shifts unexpectedly as Mr. Hoopes plays what seems like a hymn…or a prayer. Then the music goes on its lilting way to a jubilant close.

~ Oberon

January 30, 2018
American Symphony Orchestra Presents ‘Hollow Victory’

Above: composer Mieczysław Weinberg

~ Author: Ben Weaver

Sunday February 29th, 2018 – Leon Botstein and his American Symphony Orchestra always present interesting programming of rarely-performed works. On January 28th, the theme was “Jews in Soviet Russia after the World War” and was perhaps one of their finest concerts. Presented were three works by two composers: first half was dedicated to Mieczysław Weinberg and second half to Vieniamin Fleishman. Both men were close friends with Dmitri Shostakovich, whose influence can be heard in their works.

Mieczysław Weinberg is perhaps the better-known of the two. Born in 1919 in Warsaw, Poland into an artistic family (his father was a conductor and composer of the Yiddish theater and his Ukrainian-born mother was an actress.) During the war his parents and younger sister were interned in the Lodz ghetto and died in the Trawnicki concentration camp. After the war, in the Soviet Union where he settled, Weinberg was arrested by the KGB in 1953. Shostakovich’s personal appeal to Lavrenti Beria – and Stalin’s death soon thereafter – saved Weinberg’s life. Weinberg’s vast musical output includes 22 symphonies, 17 string quartets, 9 violin sonatas, 7 operas, 40 film and animation scores (including for the Palm d’Or-winning film “The Cranes are Flying.”)

Leon Botstein began the concert with Weinberg’s “Rhapsody on Moldavian Themes,” composed in 1949. An ancient state – forced to be one of the Soviet Union’s republics between 1940 and 1991 – Moldavia’s culture is closely related to Romania’s and it’s folk melodies sometimes will bring to mind folk melodies Brahms and Dvořák used in their famous collection of dances. Weinberg’s Rhapsody begins with a drive from the low strings and then an oboe introduces the first mournful theme. The Rhapsody moves easily between the mournful and infectious dance tunes, alternating soaring full string section and solos for individual instruments. There is a definite Klezmer dance tune near the end, which brings the work to an exciting close.

Weinberg’s substantial Symphony No. 5, composed in 1962, without a doubt takes inspiration from Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 4, which though it was premiered in 1961 was composed 25 years earlier, and Weinberg and Shostakovich used to play a two piano arrangement of it for friends long before the premiere. The work opens with a slow “siren,” two repeated notes, from the violins. This motif returns over and over throughout the symphony like a wail of doom, sometimes picked up by other instruments. There are sudden interruptions from the timpani, bringing to mind Mahler’s 6th Symphony. There are beautiful and beautifully-played solos for various instruments, most notably the flute (Yevgeny Faniuk is listed as principal flautist) and horn (Zohar Schondorf)). The Symphony ends with a hushed march, growling trombones and a mysterious celesta.

Veniamin Fleischman was born in 1913 and entered the Leningrad Conservatory in 1939. His teacher, Shostakovich, called Fleishman his favorite student. While a student, on Shostakovich’s suggestion, Fleishman began composing the opera “Rothschild’s Violin,” from a short story by Chekhov. (Fleishman wrote his own libretto.) When the Nazis invaded the USSR in the summer of 1941 Fleishman enlisted in the Red Army and was killed on September 14 near Leningrad. Shostakovich went to great lengths to retrieve Fleishman’s manuscript of the opera. He completed and orchestrated the work in 1943-44, and later went to great lengths to have it performed, though without much success. Its sympathetic portrayal of Jewish people no doubt did not fit comfortably with the Soviet regime. There was one concert performance in Moscow in 1960 and a staged performance did not take place until 1968. Shostakovich wrote in his memoirs: “It’s a marvelous opera – sensitive and sad. There are no cheap effects in it; it is wise and very Chekhovian. I’m sorry that theatres pass over Fleishman’s opera. It’s certainly not the fault of the music, as far as I can see.”

The main character, a Christian coffin maker Yakov Ivanov, undergoes a spiritual crises and something of an awakening. After Yakov’s wife Marfa informs him that she is dying, they both reminisce about their dead child, and Yakov realizes he will have to build his own wife’s coffin. “Life is all loss, only death is gain,” he says. Though Yakov quarrels with Rothschild, the young flautist in the local Jewish orchestra, at the end he leaves Rothschild his most prized possession: the violin, which Rothschild begins to play as the opera ends.

“Rothschild’s Violin” is a magnificent opera. Fleishman, editing Chekov’s story, brilliantly removed all secondary characters and stories, keeping only the story of the coffin-maker. We know nothing even about the young Jew to whom Yakov leaves his violin; nor about Yakov’s wife Marfa, who is dying. This is a story of one man, there are no loungers or pauses in the narrative. It moves quickly through monologues and dialogues, only pausing for Yakov’s final apotheosis where he comes to understand his life and losses. Though the characters, especially Marfa, feel sorry for themselves, there is no sentimentality or cheap dramatic effects. The simplicity of it is what gives the work so much power.

The quartet of singers assembled for the opera was perfect. Bass Mikhail Svetlov (above) was a deeply moving and beautifully sung Yakov. The only native Russian speaker in the cast, he projected the text and all its nuances in a way few can. His is a big, rich voice, with an easy top.

Mezzo-soprano Jennifer Roderer (above) was a plum-voiced Marfa; managing to be both a nagging self-pitying wife and a woman who, perhaps on her deathbed, has obviously suffered so much. What kept flying through my head as she was singing is that Ms. Roderer’s large, beautiful and booming mezzo would make a fantastic Fricka; it is a role she sings and we can only hope she is able to sing it at the Metropolitan Opera (which is supposed to bring back its Ring cycle soon.)

Tenor Marc Heller (above), singing the role of the leader of the Jewish orchestra, would make a pretty good Siegfried. The huge, ringing voice flew easily over the orchestra and Maestro Botstein’s rather unforgiving volume.

Lyric tenor Aaron Blake (above) was a lovely and nervous young Rothschild. There is actually very little for Rothschild to sing, so Mr. Blake made up for it with pantomime acting, particularly at the end after Yakov has gifted him his fiddle (kindly loaned for the proceedings by a violinist on stage), and an extended orchestral postlude (including lovely solo violin playing by concertmaster Gabrielle Fink) summarizes not only Yakov’s sacrifice, but Rothschild’s future. Intentionally or not, there was something quite poetic and moving in the fact that a member of the orchestra gave up her violin and was not able to play the extended orchestral passage in the end, mirroring Yakov’s own losses.

It is also worth nothing that the final orchestral passage goes from being lightly scored and transparent to having a very close resemblance to the searing final moments of Shostakovich’s 5th Symphony.

“Rothschild’s Violin” is a great opera; it deserves to be staged.

~ Ben Weaver

January 30, 2018
@ My Met Score Desk for TOSCA

~ Author: Oberon

Saturday January 27th, 2018 matinee – The Met have fortunately replaced their unsightly and theatrically tedious Luc Bondy production of TOSCA with a traditional setting of the “shabby little shocker”; it opened on New Year’s Eve with a cast and conductor that had undergone changes in the run up to the prima.

Aside from the dramatic show curtain depicting the Archangel Michael with blood-red wings, I could not see anything of the sets and costumes from my score desk. In April, I’ll get a full-view when the ‘second cast’ takes over.

Other than at performances of TURANDOT, this was the fullest house I have seen at The Met in the past few seasons. Apparently many in the audience found the MetTitles in Act I to be hilarious today, for there was much unbridled laughter.

The orchestra sounded great, and I’ve always liked Emmanuel Villaume’s conducting both in the opera house and the concert hall. His TOSCA was on the grand scale, painted in broad strokes, with tempi that pressed forward; yet there were also the needed lyrical respites where orchestral detail could be savoured. Villaume also allowed his singers to cling to favorite notes, without losing the shape of the music. A volcanic eruption of orchestral sound as the ‘Scarpia Chords’ heralded the Baron’s entry was actually thrilling.

Sonya Yoncheva has been singing her first career Toscas in the present run. My past experiences with her in the theater have been as a pleasant Mimi and a moderately attractive Desdemona. In both those roles, a rather generic timbre and a tendency to sing slightly above pitch rather frequently offset her physical appeal and pretty but unexceptional vocalism. Making a sudden leap (oops!) to Tosca seemed like an unwise move for her; but, since I’m not a fan, do I really care if she blows her voice out?

Her Tosca was sung with unrelenting loudness; it’s a one-colour voice to begin with, and she seemed indifferent to the markings in the score, seldom if ever singing less than mezzo-forte. Being a shade sharp much of the time did not help matters. She’s pushing the lower range, and the top now tends to waver a bit. Overall there was a sense of forcing to fill the big hall.

The “Vissi d’arte” was over-sung, without the pulling back at “Nell’ora del dolore…” that personalizes the aria. In terms of declamation, Ms. Yoncheva melodramatically veered from ‘shrilling’ on “Tu non l’avrai stasera…giuro!” to shouting on “Sogghigno di demone!” Overall, she often seemed fully-extended. Yet her big aria won her a big applause, and I feel she’ll be encouraged to make further forays into roles calling for a more dramatic sound than is hers by nature. I would guess in three or four years she will find herself in a similar situation vocally to the woman she replaced in these performances.

Vittorio Grigolo’s Cavaradossi is likewise a step or two in vocal heft beyond the roles we’ve heard him sing to date. A generous singer, Grigolo pleases the crowd with his unfettered sound; he can zing out top notes that have a real spark but – unlike Ms. Yoncheva – he does on occasion throw in a piano note or turn a phrase more gently.

In the past, Željko Lučić has sometimes annoyed me with his errant sense of pitch in the Verdi roles, but today as Scarpia that problem cropped up only in passing. Following the thundering chords that announce Scarpia’s arrival in the Church of Sant’Andrea della Valle, Mr. Lučić unleashed his own thunderbolt with “Un tal baccano in chiesa?!”, catapulting to a house-filling top note. He alone of the three principals seemed to be doing something with the the words, and his singing veered from ripe power to velvety insinuation. As Tosca fled the scene after their encounter, Mr. Lučić’s Scarpia laid the groundwork for his plot. In the ensuing Te Deum, baritone, chorus, and orchestra combined forces for genuinely exciting finale to the first act.

Lučić continued to impress in Act II, despite the occasional flat note. Ferocious in his questioning of Cavaradossi, feigning cordiality as he drew Tosca to the bargaining table, brazenly expounding on his lechery in “Gia, mi dicon venal”, the Serbian baritone joined the ranks of my favoured Scarpias over the decades: Anselmo Colzani, Cornell MacNeil, Sherrill Milnes, Robert Hale, Frederick Burchinal, and Justino Diaz.

It’s rare to hear a Sacristan who really sings: Patrick Carfizzi put the emphasis on the notes, and let the comedic aspects of the character take care of themselves. He sounded fantastic.

I was planning to stay for the third act, but as so often happens at The Met, the endless intermission got on my nerves and so, after a while, I packed up and headed home.

~ Oberon

January 26, 2018
Ehnes/Denève: All-Prokofiev @ The NY Phil

Above: violinist James Ehnes

~ Author: Oberon

Thursday January 25th, 2018 – A composer we love, an orchestra we love, a violinist we love, a conductor we love: my friend Dmitry and I had a great time at The New York Philharmonic tonight.

For this all-Prokofiev concert, The Love for Three Oranges Suite proved an imaginative opener. I’ve seen this opera only once, in Maurice Sendak’s clever 1985 production for New York City Opera, and enjoyed it immensely. It was wonderful to encounter this music again, especially in Stéphane Denève’s witty and wonder-filled interpretation.

The suite is in six movements, starting with Ridiculous Fellows which opens big and then gets subtle; the music is filled with a sense of irony, as is the entire opera. The Infernal Scene – a card-game played by Tchelio and Fata Morgana – sounds ominous and develops a churning feeling. Fanfares herald the famous March, which begins softly and soon struts boldly. The xylophone and muted trumpets add a toy-like sound, and the winds play over pulsing violins; this March is droll, almost tipsy. Limpid fluting from Yoobin Son delights in the Scherzo, and there’s a really lovely viola passage for Cynthia Phelps. The violins and horns play in unison. The suite ends with Flight, an allegro with an agitated air. Maestro Denève was perfectly in his element for this coloristic music, and he gallantly drew Ms. Phelps to her feet for a solo bow, graciously kissing her hand.

James Ehnes’s playing of the Prokofiev Violin Concerto No. 1 was truly ravishing. This concerto has become very familiar to me over time in Jerome Robbins’s balletic setting, Opus 19/The Dreamer, for New York City Ballet; it’s my favorite of all Robbins ballets.

The music commences with a soft shivering tingle, and the violinist takes up a plaintive melody. Mr. Ehnes plays with an innate sense of rhythmic surety and delicious subtlety of dynamics. The music is dreamlike (hence the title of the Robbins ballet) with the soloist playing over soft tremolos from the violas. From this shimmering atmosphere, the flute sings while the violinist plays in his highest range. Really luminous.

The Scherzo was taken at super speed, giving the music a wild quality. Mr. Ehnes’s superbly scrappy attacks propel things forward; the music buzzes and the violin slithers. The last movement commences with Judith LeClair’s bassoon theme, into which the solo violin insinuates itself in a melodic rise. Liang Wang’s oboe enchants, and the music grows ethereal, with an atmosphere of swooning beauty. Prokofiev brings in the high harp, and the violinst plays gliding scales. A series of delicate, jewel-like trills in the stratosphere display Mr. Ehnes’s clarity and control; the concerto ends in an iridescent glow.

Mr. Ehnes’s sustaining of the intriguingly glistening atmosphere of the final movement held the audience under his spell; a warm ovation ensued, and Maestro Denève seated himself among the players as the violinist offered a heartfelt Bach encore. Called back for yet another bow, Mr. Ehnes was hailed by all the Philharmonic string players tapping their bows in unison: a lovely gesture of musical congeniality.

Above: Stéphane Denève, in a Genevieve Caron portrait

Selections from Romeo and Juliet completed the program. Myself, I think Cinderella is the more interesting of Prokofiev’s two full-length ballet scores. But audiences never seem to tire of the familiar tunes of the composer’s setting of the Shakespeare classic, and there was much brilliant playing in this evening’s presentation; it’s music Maestro Maestro Denève clearly savours.

This cinematic score impresses from the start, where a violent opening gives way to tender delicacy. Prokofiev’s orchestration provides one delight after another; the solo clarinet, saxophone, and harp each summon up unique emotions, while a passage for flute and celeste and another for unison basses and celli are particularly ear-catching. The tender dawn music as the ‘balcony scene’ ends puts a lump in the throat every time. Although I could not glimpse all the solo players, special kudos to Liang Wang, Robert Langevin (flute), and Pascual Martinez Fortenza (clarinet). Artists of this calibre add so much to every New York Philharmonic concert.

We had greatly enjoyed our first encounter with Stéphane Denève’s conducting in 2015, when he made his Philharmonic debut in a program we still talk about. I hope he will return often in future seasons.

This evening, the orchestra welcomed the Zarin Mehta Fellows: ten young musicians from the Music Academy of the West who have spent a week in New York City participating in an immersive program covering all aspects of the life of an orchestral player. One can only imagine their excitement at being onstage and playing with the wonderful artists of the Philharmonic.

~ Oberon

January 25, 2018
Gatti/Royal Concertgebouw: Wagner & Bruckner

Above: conductor Daniele Gatti

Author: Oberon

Wednesday January 17th, 2018 – This long-awaited Carnegie Hall concert by the Royal Concertgebouw under the baton of Daniele Gatti paired two of my favorite composers – Wagner and Bruckner – and my expectations for the performance were very high indeed. Wagner-starved as my friend Dmitry and I have been in recent seasons, hearing the Prelude to Act III and Good Friday Spell from PARSIFAL was alone reason to anticipate this concert for months in advance. That Bruckner’s 9th Symphony would complete the program gave reason to feel this was destined to be a thrilling evening. Both works were played magnificently by this great orchestra, and Maestro Gatti again upheld our esteem for him as one of the greatest conductors of our time.

But in practice – as opposed to in theory – I felt, as the evening progressed, that putting these two masterpieces on the same program didn’t work out nearly as well as I’d expected. About midway thru the Bruckner, I felt my interest waning. In attempting to reason it out, I came to this conclusion: Wagner is a great composer, and Bruckner is a very good one. This certainly does not mean that Bruckner’s music isn’t wonderful, and meaningful. But there’s a depth of feeling in Wagner’s writing that – for me – eludes Bruckner.

Wagner’s two ‘Grail’ operas – one about the father (PARSIFAL) and the other about the son (LOHENGRIN) – both contain music of other-worldly beauty. The composer wrote: “It is reserved for Art to save the spirit of religion.” [“Religion and Art” (1880)]. In these two operas, Wagner’s music expresses the inexpressible in ways that make non-believers like myself wonder if we’ve got it right…or not.

Maestro Gatti’s gift for evoking mythic times and places (his Metropolitan Opera AIDAs in 2009 were fascinating in this regard) meant that the music from PARSIFAL performed tonight was truly transportive. As with his Met performances of the Wagner opera in 2013, Gatti’s pacing seemed ideal. The gorgeously integrated sound of the Concertgebouw, with its velvety-resonant basses, leads us to Monsalvat, where – with Parsifal’s return – the long Winter gives way to Spring. For a blessèd time, we are far from the dismal present, watching the flowers bloom is that legendary realm, as Kundry weeps. Poetry without words.

Bruckner’s unfinished 9th symphony impressed me deeply when I first heard it performed live in 2014, and I expected the same reaction tonight. For much of the first movement, I was thoroughly engaged and experiencing the tingles of appreciation that Bruckner’s music usually produces. I confess that I like the ‘purple’ parts of Bruckner’s music best, and perhaps my eventual zone-out began with the Scherzo.

In the Adagio, I grew restless; the repetitions became tiresome. A few people got up and left, and others had fallen asleep. I continued to attempt to re-engage with the superb playing and Maestro Gatti’s interpretation, but honestly I could not wait for the symphony to end; and I made a mental note to skip an upcoming performance of it.

The irony of tonight’s situation struck me as I was pondering the experience on the train going home. How is it that Wagner, a non-believer, is able to put us in touch with the divine whereas the pious Bruckner, a devout Catholic who dedicated the 9th symphony “To God”, seems only to be knocking on heaven’s door?

Now, more than ever, I look forward to the upcoming PARSIFAL performances at The Met.

~ Oberon

January 18, 2018