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The Borodin Quartet ~ Chamber Music Society

Above: the members of The Borodin Quartet: Vladimir Balshin, Sergei Lomovsky, Igor Naidin, and Ruben Aharonian.

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday March 24th, 2019 – For the grand finale of their Russian Panorama festival, Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center welcomed The Borodin Quartet. Formed in 1945 by four students from the Moscow Conservatory, the Borodin are world-renowned for their interpretations of the Shostakovich quartets.

The Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung said of The Borodin Quartet: “…here we have not four individual players, but a single 16-stringed instrument of great virtuosity.” Truer words have ne’er been written. The members of the Borodin are Ruben Aharonian and Sergei Lomovsky (violins), Igor Naidin (viola), and Vladimir Balshin (cello); seldom have I heard such an intrinsically beautiful blending of sound as in this richly rewarding concert.

To open the program: Nikolai Myaskovsky‘s Quartet No. 13 in A-minor, Op. 86, written in 1949. A composer of vast output, Myaskovsky is not well-known outside Russia, where he is considered part of a triumvirate alongside Prokofiev and Shostakovich; Myaskovsky’s music is far more conservative than that of his two compatriots, and he disdained European influences. On the evidence of this 13th quartet, opportunities to hear more of his music would be most welcome.

To a pulsing rhythm, a cello solo is passed on to the violin and then to the viola; immediately the unique sound of the Borodins captivates the ear. The themes of this opening Moderato entwine in a miraculous intermingling of the four instruments. A sense of urgency rises, then subsides as Mr. Aharonian’s violin sings a sad, sweet song. A fugue springs up, then the melodic flood resumes, sweeping on to a reverential ending.

The Presto fantastico is a swift, scherzo-like affair with a driven accompaniment figure until things slow for a poignant melody from the violin and cello in turn. To a plucking motif, cellist Vladimir Balshin plays a melancholy air. The music then peps up, dancing along at increasing speed to a witty, plucked finish.

The Andante con moto e molto cantabile is solemn and wistful: the signature feeling we associate with the most poignant Russian music. Cello and violin are again featured, and the movement ends in a benedictive state.

The energetic start of the Molto vivo offers perfect contrast: violin and cello passages – the violin sailing over dense harmonies – evolve to a delightful section for duetting violins as the lower instruments are plucked. Violin and cello resume their thematic game of tag; the violin duo revives itself, joined by cello and viola as the the music comes to an amusing end.

Shostakovich’s Quartet No. 13 in B-flat minor, Op. 138, was composed in 1970. In this single-movement work, the viola takes a prominent role; the quartet further features moments when the players tap on their instruments with the wood of their bows.

From the opening solo, violist Igor Naidin’s playing made a deep impression. As the other players join, dissonances crop up. The violin wanders above, the cello deep, the harmonies brooding. The violins duet, and the music turns searing before resuming is slow, darkish aspect. The high violin makes stuttering comments, and from dense dissonances the trilling viola emerges. Now the tapping starts. The higher voices commence a rhythmic pattern, with the cello sounding below. A sense of mystery develops, broken by insistent slashings. The the viola plays alone, the music rich and gloomy, and the violin on the rise. Cello and viola duet; the viola begins to ascend and – against the tapping – Mr. Naidin sounds simply ravishing. The music ends on high, sustained tones.

Following the interval, Alexander Borodin’s Quartet No. 2 in D-major, from 1881, was given a phenomenal performance. The opening Allegro moderato, with superb playing from Mr. Balshin, was a pure delight. The Scherzo, quite bubbly, brings out the familiar melody of “Baubles, bangles, and beads“, adapted in the musical Kismet. Lyricism and finesse sustain the ebb and flow before returning to the charm of the Kismet theme, underscored now by the insistent sound of the cello’s tones. There’s a sudden rush, to a sprightly finish…:”Wow!” is what I wrote here.

The cello’s plushy resonance and the violin’s silken sweetness intoxicate us in the Notturno: andante: music of magical romance. As heart-on-sleeve theme follows gorgeous theme, the players outdo themselves: the violins ethereal, the cello stunning, as the music becomes truly sublime.

A rather weird entr’acte introduces the Finale, with the cello setting the pace as the viola takes off. All play briskly, the music scurrying before turning lyrical. The “entr’acte” returns, feeling a bit out of place. Slow and fast passages alternate, leading to the dense finish with the violin poised in heaven.

Tonight’s Alice Tully Hall audience were not about to let The Borodin Quartet go without an encore: insistent applause and cheers brought the players back to their chairs, where they offered a hauntingly beautiful rendering of Shostakovich’s Elegy for String Quartet: a perfect ending to a perfect evening.

~ Oberon

March 24, 2019
The ASO Presents Martinů’s JULIETTA

Above: the composer Bohuslav Martinů

~ Author: Oberon

Friday March 22nd, 2019 – Bohuslav Martinů’s opera JULIETTA in a concert presentation by The American Symphony Orchestra at Carnegie Hall, conducted by Leon Botstein. Based on the French play Juliette, ou La clé des songes (Juliette, or The Key of Dreams) by Georges Neveux, Martinů’s opera explores a world where dreams and reality converge.

The plot of the opera was once described thus: “Michel Lepik, a bookbinder from Paris, is dreaming. Finding himself in a small seaside town, he sets out to look for a woman, Julietta, he’s absolutely convinced he met there three years before. The only problem is, everyone in the town has lost their memory. After a search, he finally finds her and tries to coax from her memories of their time together. Frustrated, he shoots her. But did it all really happen? Michel finds himself in the “Central Office for Dreams”, where the nightwatchman tries to persuade him to leave…because, if he stays past the allotted time, he must stay forever.”

While it was interesting to experience JULIETTA live, not all operas work well in a concert setting. The story is somewhat intriguing in its own right, but it seems to me that it cries out for an imaginative staging: it is not really a strong enough narrative to sustain interest over a three-hour span without some visual context. Beyond the leading roles of Julietta and Michel, the singers each portrayed multiple characters. A booklet with the full text was provided, but it is not easy to watch the stage, read the words, and take notes all at the same time. Also, throughout the performance, the sound of text booklets dropping to the floor was annoying.

Martinů’s orchestration is sometimes fascinating, but only in the final moments of Act II did the opera draw me in musically. Much of the first act is given over to banter – some of it spoken, in English – and at times it felt more like a play or a Broadway show than an opera; I must say, in truth, it became tiresome after a while. At 10:00 PM, there was an intermission, with another act still to come. Knowing how whimsical the MTA is at night, I decided it was safest to leave Carnegie Hall at the point. Sure enough, I had an ordeal getting home.

The orchestra played very well under Maestro Botstein’s detailed leadership; the score is strewn with brilliant little instrumental opportunities, which the players eagerly seized upon. Tenor Aaron Blake, slender and lively, impressed in the role of Michel. His music calls for plaintive lyricism but also power and passion. Mr Blake’s voice had the needed beauty of tone as well as the intensity required to give a truly impressive performance. In the title-role, the attractive soprano Sara Jakubiak sang with a warm spinto sound, making me wish the character had more extended passages of song. David Cangelosi, who has been so excellent as Wagner’s Mime and in other highlighted character roles at The Met, was simply superb as the Police Chief.

Multi-tasking in myriad roles were: the comely young mezzo Rebecca Jo Loeb, the lively and boisterously endearing mezzo Raehann Bryce-Davis, the always-wonderful contralto Tichina Vaughn, Met stalwart and strong-voiced baritone Philip Cokorinos, the fine basso Kevin Burdette – who I heard many times in his Juilliard days – and the inimitable Alfred Walker, a vocal scene-stealer and impressive presence, with ultra-clear diction. A small vocal ensemble from the Bard Festival Chorale (James Bagwell, director) sang from stage right.

I wish I could feel more enthusiastic about the piece itself; I also wish the ASO would start their performances at 7:00 PM, so as to end before the MTA makes getting home a chore.

~ Oberon

March 23, 2019
The ASO Presents Martinů’s JULIETTA

Above: the composer Bohuslav Martinů

~ Author: Oberon

Friday March 22nd, 2019 – Bohuslav Martinů’s opera JULIETTA in a concert presentation by The American Symphony Orchestra at Carnegie Hall, conducted by Leon Botstein. Based on the French play Juliette, ou La clé des songes (Juliette, or The Key of Dreams) by Georges Neveux, Martinů’s opera explores a world where dreams and reality converge.

The plot of the opera was once described thus: “Michel Lepik, a bookbinder from Paris, is dreaming. Finding himself in a small seaside town, he sets out to look for a woman, Julietta, he’s absolutely convinced he met there three years before. The only problem is, everyone in the town has lost their memory. After a search, he finally finds her and tries to coax from her memories of their time together. Frustrated, he shoots her. But did it all really happen? Michel finds himself in the “Central Office for Dreams”, where the nightwatchman tries to persuade him to leave…because, if he stays past the allotted time, he must stay forever.”

While it was interesting to experience JULIETTA live, not all operas work well in a concert setting. The story is somewhat intriguing in its own right, but it seems to me that it cries out for an imaginative staging: it is not really a strong enough narrative to sustain interest over a three-hour span without some visual context. Beyond the leading roles of Julietta and Michel, the singers each portrayed multiple characters. A booklet with the full text was provided, but it is not easy to watch the stage, read the words, and take notes all at the same time. Also, throughout the performance, the sound of text booklets dropping to the floor was annoying.

Martinů’s orchestration is sometimes fascinating, but only in the final moments of Act II did the opera draw me in musically. Much of the first act is given over to banter – some of it spoken, in English – and at times it felt more like a play or a Broadway show than an opera; I must say, in truth, it became tiresome after a while. At 10:00 PM, there was an intermission, with another act still to come. Knowing how whimsical the MTA is at night, I decided it was safest to leave Carnegie Hall at the point. Sure enough, I had an ordeal getting home.

The orchestra played very well under Maestro Botstein’s detailed leadership; the score is strewn with brilliant little instrumental opportunities, which the players eagerly seized upon. Tenor Aaron Blake, slender and lively, impressed in the role of Michel. His music calls for plaintive lyricism but also power and passion. Mr Blake’s voice had the needed beauty of tone as well as the intensity required to give a truly impressive performance. In the title-role, the attractive soprano Sara Jakubiak sang with a warm spinto sound, making me wish the character had more extended passages of song. David Cangelosi, who has been so excellent as Wagner’s Mime and in other highlighted character roles at The Met, was simply superb as the Police Chief.

Multi-tasking in myriad roles were: the comely young mezzo Rebecca Jo Loeb, the lively and boisterously endearing mezzo Raehann Bryce-Davis, the always-wonderful contralto Tichina Vaughn, Met stalwart and strong-voiced baritone Philip Cokorinos, the fine basso Kevin Burdette – who I heard many times in his Juilliard days – and the inimitable Alfred Walker, a vocal scene-stealer and impressive presence, with ultra-clear diction. A small vocal ensemble from the Bard Festival Chorale (James Bagwell, director) sang from stage right.

I wish I could feel more enthusiastic about the piece itself; I also wish the ASO would start their performances at 7:00 PM, so as to end before the MTA makes getting home a chore.

~ Oberon

March 22, 2019
Matthias Goerne ~ Adams: The Wound-Dresser

Above: baritone Matthias Goerne

~ Author: Oberon

Thursday March 21st, 2019 – This long-awaited concert featured The New York Philharmonic‘s Artist-in-Residence Matthias Goerne singing one of my favorite 20th-century vocal works: John Adams’ The Wound-Dresser. Music by Charles Ives and Johannes Brahms was also on the bill, with the orchestra’s Music Director, Jaap van Zweden, on the podium.

Charles Ives’ mysterious Central Park in the Dark made for a strangely fascinating program-opener. If you’ve ever walked across The Park at night, this atmospheric and slightly creepy music – which at first drifts by like a cool nocturnal mist – perfectly summons up the surreal feeling of being alone in the huge City.

The sound of Pascual Martínez-Forteza’s clarinet introduces a human element; the trumpet and a pair of pianos come into play, and there is a boisterous, off-kilter rendering of “My Ragtime Gal” and a noisy battering of percussion that makes you want to call 311. Then, slowly, the music fades into a dream.

Mr. Goerne then appeared for John Adams’ The Wound-Dresser. This work was composed for and premiered by the late, great American baritone Sanford Sylvan in 1989. The texts are from Walt Whitman’s poem of the same title. The poet took on the task of visiting the sick and dying soldiers in hospitals during the time of the Civil War.

Composer John Adams said of this poem: “…(it) is the most intimate, most graphic, and most profoundly affecting evocation of the act of nursing the sick and dying that I know of. It is also astonishingly free of any kind of hyperbole or amplified emotion, yet the detail of the imagery is of a precision that could only be attained by one who had been there.”

Mr. Goerne’s interpretation of this poignant work had an almost operatic feeling. One could say that his English diction had a ‘British accent’; for the most part, his enunciation was admirable, whilst overhead titles filled in any blanks. The sound of a dropped item in the audience at the very outset of the piece was the worst kind of intrusion, but Maestro van Zweden would not be deterred.

The music at first evokes the tread of the nurse, walking the wards. Mr. Goerne’s voice at the start was deep and dark; the baritone’s great gift of a vast dynamic range meant that he could bring a haunting, unexpected pianissimo into the turning of a phrase, At some moments, feelings of anger rose in the voice: a righteous anger over the death and despair of war.

The poignant descent of the basses before “I onward go“, the sheer lyric beauty of Goerne’s “One turns to me…”, and the unbearable tenderness of “…to die for you, if that would save you!“: these were but a few of the memorable moments in this moving performance. The singer’s powers of expression as he describes horrific afflictions, his passionate distress – leading to the haunting “Come, sweet death...” – and the miraculous sustained piano at “…in mercy…” draw us deeper and deeper into the poet’s thoughts.

The lamenting violins, the deep-purple basses, the celesta-like intimations of angel wings, the plaintive high trumpet as the wounds are described – from these the music builds to a flood of anguish, to be overtaken by the high violins and their vision of heavenly rest. Surrounded by suffering, the nurseman sings: “I am faithful. I do not give out.”

The music grows huge, the voice now with an almost demented quality. Mindy Kaufman’s flute sounds forth, and the woodwinds take on the aspect of a choir. Mr. Goerne’s singing, so perfectly modulated, is heartbreaking. The gleaming trumpet sounds, the music rises on high.

In the watches of the night, the poet/nurse sits by the dying men: “Some are so young. Some suffer so much.” And at the end, his story becomes personal: “Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested. Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.”

A long silence followed this most moving performance. The composer joined Mr. Goerne and Maestro van Zweden onstage, with Mr. Adams summoning the orchestra’s principal trumpet, Christopher Martin, to rise for a bow. As so often after a memorable musical experience, part of me wanted to leave and hold onto the memory of it.

But, following the interval, we heard a lustrous performance of Brahms’ Symphony No.1. It took Brahms nearly fifteen years to compose this, his his first symphony. He continually made revisions throughout this time-span, discarding pages, editing, and starting over from scratch. At the time of the premiere, Brahms worried whether anyone would like the finished work. But Hans von Bülow – a composer, conductor and pianist, just like Brahms – referred to the symphony as ‘Beethoven’s Tenth’. High praise indeed: and Brahms, now feeling confident after a positive public reception, wrote a second symphony the following year.

Another “dropped item” made an unwanted dent in the score as the symphony began; I notice that people are now allowed to bring water bottles into the hall, and possibly these are contributing to what seems to be an increasing annoyance of extraneous sounds spoiling the music we’ve all come to hear.

The first movement of the Brahms 1st was especially wonderful to experience tonight. Flautist Robert Langevin and clarinetist Anthony McGill were in for the concert’s second half, making beautiful music. The blended sound of the orchestra was so finely integrated, the horns sounded opulent, and the sense of longing in the music as the movement progressed was palpable.

The Andante sostenuto, with Sherry Sylar’s lovely oboe solo, the satiny sound of the rising violin theme, Mr. McGill’s pliant phrasing of the clarinet line, and Richard Deane’s velvety horn all highlighted the Autumnal beauty of the music. The ensuing Poco allegretto feels merely pleasant at first, but soon turns livelier. Again, Mr. McGill – and the Philharmonic’s grand bass players – gave much for us to enjoy.

Sneaky plucking made a delightful impression in the concluding movement, wherein the horn, flute, and a brass choir each have their say before the familiar tune commences, carrying us on to the work’s vibrant finish.

Under Maestro van Zweden’s leadership, The Philharmonic tonight played the Brahms as magnificently as I have ever heard them play anything – and that is saying a great deal. The sound was rich, profound, and heartfelt. The symphony unfolded naturally, unhurried but always alive, leading to a celebratory ovation at the end.

~ Oberon

March 21, 2019
Pianist Dasol Kim @ The Morgan Library

Above: pianist Dasol Kim, photo by Christian Steiner

~ Author: Oberon

Wednesday February 27th, 2019 matinee – Young Concert Artists presenting pianist Dasol Kim in a noontime recital at The Morgan Library. An imaginative program, superbly played in this intimate, high-ceilinged and sonically alive hall, made for a heart-warming experience on a chilly, overcast day.

Mr. Kim has been a prize-winner at numerous competitions. He has been a soloist with major orchestras in Europe and the USA, and his debut disc – of works by Robert Schumann – was released by Deutsche Grammaphon in 2015.

Opening his recital at the Morgan this afternoon, the lithe-framed pianist displayed a wonderful sense of rhythmic vitality in Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 26 in E-flat Major, Op. 81a. The pulse of the music was finely set forth as the atmosphere moves from melancholy to triumphant to joyous. A loud, ill-timed cough from someone in the hall rather spoiled the ending of the first movement, but Mr. Kim was not fazed in the least and proceeded to a perfect rendering of the moody Andante espressivo, which shifts between pensive and hopeful passages. His playing here showed a wonderful delicate touch. In the sonata’s final movement, the rapid passages were then effortlessly clear and vivid, with big attacks and fiorature aplenty. A sort of coda brings the work to a big end, and brought the first of the afternoon’s volleys of applause from the appreciative audience.

Chopin’s Scherzo No. 4 in E Major, Op. 54, shows a certain motivic relationship to the Beethoven. Mr. Kim offered fanciful, jewel-like cascades of notes, laced with charming mini-pauses along the way. A sudden shift to sadness is a surprise; the music turns dreamy before returning to this sad theme, which Mr. Kim played so movingly. With a burst of passion, happiness returns. The piece ends grandly.

Mr. Kim then offered an engrossing – indeed hypnotic – performance of Maurice Ravel’s astonishing Gaspard de la nuit. This most demanding of solo piano works was inspired by a book by Aloysius Bertrand (1807-1841) of the same name which contained verses, prose-poems, and drawings relating to fantasies of imps, devils, nymphs, ill-fated lovers, visions of death, and nightmares. Gaspard de la nuit is a nick-name for Satan.

The opening movement, Ondine, tells of the attempt of the eponymous water nymph to draw her mortal beloved down to her submerged castle, from which they will rule the deep. Dasol Kim’s playing of the shimmering, rapturous fihurations was so evocative. Music of magical delicacy turns passionate; the pianist plays glittering scales as the sound builds, to be followed by a feeling of dreamlike drifting.

The incredibly haunting Le gibet (The Gallows) depicts a hanged man silhouetted against the setting sun. This darkly hesitant, eerily beautiful music (so chillingly used in the noir vampire film, The Hunger) was a perfect vehicle for Mr. Kim’s mesmerisingly sustained interpretation: his sublime control here gave me the chills.

After a sly start, Scarbo (an elusive dwarf who haunts dreams) turns into a high-velocity dance with cunning pauses and crafty mood swings. With dazzling dexterity, Mr. Kim portrayed this sneaky creature; the music turns ghostly before Scarbo vanishes quietly into the night.

To end his program, Mr. Kim offered Nikolai Kapustin’s ‘Intermezzo’ from Eight Concert Etudes, Op. 40: a jazzy work played with a debonair lilt. The music speeds up, the pianist reeling off the lively, dancing passages with flair. This dazzling finale/encore elicited a standing ovation from the crowd.

~ Oberon

February 27, 2019
Oratorio Society: Sibelius ~ KULLERVO

Above: artwork by Georg Sigurd Wettenhovi-Aspa (1870-1946)

~ Author: Oberon

Monday February 25th, 2019 -The Oratorio Society of New York presenting works by Berlioz, Debussy, and Sibelius at Carnegie Hall. The concert provided my first opportunity to experience Jean Sibelius’ epic choral symphony, Kullervo, live. The first half of the program was given over to two wonderfully atmospheric works featuring women’s chorus: Hector Berlioz’s “La mort d’Ophélie” from Tristia, and Claude Debussy’s “Sirènes“ from Nocturnes.

Berlioz’s Tristia dates from 1842; the “Mort d’Ophélie” was written as a solo work, and later re-set for female chorus and orchestra. The attractive scoring of the 1849 version heard tonight brings thoughts of Les Troyens amd Les Nuits d‘été to mind; in fact, the composer seems to have anticipated the former and borrowed from the latter as certain motifs rise up. The women of the Oratorio Society Chorus harmonized lovingly, and the orchestra played to perfect effect.

A song without words, the Debussy “Sirènes” (from 1899) evokes thoughts of the composer’s La Mer (of course) as well as of the haunting Pelléas et Mélisande, which the Met recently offered in a very fine performance.

“Sirènes” surely cast a spell this evening, though the repeated themes made the piece stretch long after a bit. Still, there’s no denying the great appeal of this dreamy music. As the work moved towards its ending, a cellphone going off brought us back to reality all too abruptly.

After a rather lengthy intermission, Jean Sibelius’ Kullervo received a superb performance under Kent Tritle’s baton. The male chorus of the Society was further fortified by the men of the Manhattan School of Music ‘s Symphonic Chorus: the combined choruses made an outstanding contribution to the performance, giving the audience cause to celebrate. The work calls for two vocal soloists, and both were marvelous: soprano Johanna Rusanen and baritone Takaoki Onishi.

Composed in 1892, the five-movement work tells us of the mythic Kullervo, a complex, tragic figure from Finnish legend. The Introduction depicts the Finnish land and its people and introduces us to the main character. In the second movement, Kullervo’s childhood is evoked: haunted by tragedy from birth onwards, he spends his youth largely in slavery.

The pivotal movement is the third, in which Kullervo meets and seduces (or rapes) a woman who is – unbeknownst to him – his own sister. When she learns the truth, the woman drowns herself. Kullervo laments his crime and his sister’s death; as atonement, he seeks death on the battlefield. But Death does not find him; he returns to the site where his sister died and, consumed by guilt, he falls on his sword.

I must admit that the first two movements – very well played by the Society’s orchestra – left me with restless feelings. Full of themes, and finely orchestrated to boot, the music nonetheless seemed over-long; I kept eyeing that big chorus seated onstage, wanting them to burst into song. And when they did, the effect was thrilling: the signature choral motif – “Kullervo! Son of Kalervo!” – surges forth several times in the course of the work…and its every appearance makes the blood rush. This is, seemingly, the Scherzo of the piece.

The two soloists have now taken their places onstage. Johanna Rusanen, a Finnish soprano who was a Young Artist at Berlin’s Deutsche Oper and has since made her mark in such roles as Venus, Ortrud, Isolde, and Marie in Wozzeck, is an intriguing stage presence with a clear-toned, full spinto sound that rang beautifully into the venerable Hall. Her long monologues were both vocally impressive and charged with dramatic accents as the character’s story unfolds. Ms. Rusanen’s voice struck me as one that should be heard at The Met.

The Japanese baritone Takaoki Onishi has fared well in several premiere vocal competitions. A Juilliard graduate, he was a member of the Ryan Opera Ensemble at Lyric Opera of Chicago for three seasons, where he sang several roles. His career mixes opera, concert, and recital, and I can’t wait to hear him again. A slender, handsome fellow who looks elegant in a tuxedo, Mr. Onishi possesses a baritone voice of fine quality, capable of expressive lyricism or of vivid declamation; the role of Kullervo demands both, and the baritone sang forth with distinction.

During the long and loud ovation that followed, the soloists and Maestro Tritle were deservedly cheered, as were the the excellent singers and players of the Oratorio Society of New York. The above photo by Anna Yatskevich from the Manhattan School of Music captures the joy of the moment.

Hearing the women sing Berlioz, and listening to the handsome voices of Ms. Rusanen and Mr. Onishi made me crave a concert performance of Berlioz’s Prise de Troie. How wonderful these two singers would be as Cassandra and Chorebus!

~ Oberon

February 25, 2019
Stravinsky’s FIREBIRD @ The NY Philharmonic

Above: composer and conductor Matthias Pintscher

~ Author: Brad S. Ross

Thursday February 21st, 2019 – It was an evening of exquisite sounds Thursday night at David Geffen Hall as the guest conductor Matthias Pintscher led the New York Philharmonic in music by two early 20th-century greats sandwiching one of his own, composed almost exactly a century years later. Pintscher, a German-born composer and conductor now residing in New York City, has quickly built a reputation as one of the finest younger composer–conductors of recent memory to emerge on the world stage. On this night, he brought with him a much-welcomed performance of his recent violin concerto, featuring the talents of the renowned French violinist Renaud Capuçon.

The evening began with Maurice Ravel’s “Alborada del gracioso” (“Dawn Song of the Jester”) from his 1905 piano suite Miroirs, which he had transcribed for orchestra in 1918. Ravel, a master of orchestration above all, peppered this score with myriad and most enjoyable colors, including numerous pizzicato phrases, muted brass, and varied percussive bursts. Pintscher brought the best out of the Philharmonic, which performed here with precision and grace. It made for a lively and dynamic opening piece.

Above: Renaud Capuçon

Next up was Pintscher’s own mar’eh, a concerto for violin and orchestra composed in 2011 on a commission from the Lucerne Festival, Alte Opera Frankfurt, and the London Philharmonic Orchestra, which was here receiving its New York premiere. Its title comes from a Hebrew word meaning “face sign” or, as the composer’s note indicates, “the aura of a face, a beautiful vision, something wonderful which suddenly appears before you.” Why he chose to write it in lower case is as mystifying to me as any other inexplicably ungrammatical contemporary music title.

The piece began quite eerily on a single suspended note played high on Capuçon’s violin, joined only by an ominous rumble in the percussion. A languid melody soon entered, trading between Capuçon and various brass soloists, as dark colors began to emerge throughout the orchestra. Following this menacingly silent introduction, a series of tantalizing full-ensemble swells seemed to indicate a change of direction for mar’eh before the work fell back into another series of quietly shifting timbres. This carried on for some time until the same solitary high note and percussive rumble returned to bookend the concerto.

Extended technique abounded throughout mar’eh and the players, including Capuçon, were at their absolute finest, but it was nevertheless hard to shake a sense of dissatisfaction when it was all over. What the piece lacked was a sense of direction—momentum. Its tempo always leaned toward the adagio, if that, and its dynamics, aside from the occasional fortissimo burst, rarely seemed to escape mezzopiano. For a duration of roughly 23 minutes, this made for a hard-going listening experience. The audience was politely receptive to it, however, even if their enthusiasm seemed more directed at its soloist than the composer.

After intermission was the third and final piece of the night: Igor Stravinsky’s mighty Firebird. Written in 1910, The Firebird marked the first of the composer’s many fruitful collaborations with the ballet impresario Sergei Diaghilev—a relationship that would also produce the likes of Petrushka and The Rite of Spring. Premiering only eight days after his 28th birthday, it was also Stravinsky’s breakout piece and one that placed him on the world stage as one of the finest composers of his time and beyond.

The audience knew it was in for a treat from the moment it began, as those memorable and ominous opening bars in the cello and bass harbingered the danger ahead. The First Tableau was equal parts beautiful and menacing leading up to its volatile climax (the unforgettable “Infernal Dance of All Koschei’s Subjects”) and the haunting lullaby that follows. The Second Tableau redeemed this carnage and misery with its exuberant and triumphant finale—one of the grandest in all classical music.

The experience of hearing these magnificent bars played live by an orchestra as fine as the New York Philharmonic is one I wish every person on Earth could experience for himself. The ethnomusicologist John Blacking once defined music as “humanly organized sounds…” if this be so, then these are no doubt some of the finest sonorities ever compiled by a single person.

The crowd was quick to its feat upon conclusion with many shouts of “Bravo!” This was easily one of the most animated displays of approval I’ve witnessed all season. Pintscher and company received several curtain calls and every section of the ensemble was given a chance to take their bows. The adulation was much-deserved for Pintscher and this stupendous orchestra, the gem of New York City. Bravo, indeed.

~ Brad S. Ross

February 24, 2019
Matthew Polenzani @ Zankel Hall

Above: tenor Matthew Polenzani, photographed by Fay Fox

~ Author: Oberon

Sunday February 24th, 2019 – This afternoon’s program by tenor Matthew Polenzani at Zankel Hall had been a red-letter date on my calendar ever since Carnegie Hall announced their 2018-2019 season nearly a year ago. To say that the performance surpassed my highest expectations would be an understatement.

Over the years since Mr. Polenzani first came on the New York operatic scene in 1997, he has given me some of my fondest musical memories. Of particular joy was his portrayal of David in Wagner’s DIE MEISTERSINGER, which I saw four times. Matching his sunny – and very human – portrayal of the young apprentice to his sweetly ingratiating lyrical singing, Mr. Polenzani won the hearts of audiences each time. Those performances, musically sublime under Maestro Levine’s heartfelt leadership, were some of my happiest times at the opera.

Since then, Mr. Polenzani has had great success in Mozart, bel canto, and French opera at The Met where his credentials are approaching the 400-performance mark; earlier this month, he produced a sonic miracle in his aria in Tchaikovsky’s IOLANTA. And we will soon hear him as Mozart’s Tito and Verdi’s Duke of Mantua. More red-letter dates!

Today’s recital opened with a selection of lieder by Franz Schubert in which Mr. Polenzani and the renowned pianist Julius Drake formed a treasurable musical alliance. The two men walked out onto the Zankel Hall stage to a truly warm and long-lasting applause.

From the opening “Nachtstück” – an old man’s acceptance of impending death – Mr. Polenzani showed himself to be among the most appealing and compelling interpreters of German lieder now before the public. The words flow beautifully, and without fussiness, whilst the multi-hued sound and the incredible skill with which he runs the gamut of the piano/pianissimo spectrum, make each song truly an absorbing experience.

Two Spring-songs follow: “Im Frühling” (with Mr. Drake’s dramatic piano intervention, and the singer’s incredibly sustained softness towards the end), and the familiar “Frühlingsglaube“. “Der Einsame” (The Recluse…it could be my theme song!) is somewhat jaunty in tone, and has an optimistic outlook. Then the well-beloved “Ständchen” so persuasively phrased by the tenor and finely articulated by the pianist. The concluding “Im Abendrot“, with its lovely piano introduction, sings like a prayer.

Above: pianist Julius Drake

Beethoven’s An die ferne Geliebte, the composer’s only true song cycle, strings six poems by Alois Jeitteles together in an uninterrupted flow of song. Mssrs. Polenzani and Drake perfectly captured the songs’ many poetic references to the natural world, which the singer mentally relates to the finding and eventual loss of an idealized lover. Mr. Polanzani’s golden tone, the naturalness of his way with words, and the continuing enchantment of his softest notes kept us riveted; and Mr. Drake matched the singer, nuance for nuance, in their marvelous performance.

Johannes Brahms’ Zigeunerlieder, Op. 103, brought forth mezzo-soprano Jennifer Johnson Cano (above). This set of gypsy songs served the singer as a prologue to her role as the gypsy lass Zefka in Janáček’s The Diary of One Who Vanished. In a striking deep blue gown, Ms. Johnson Cano gave a vivid performance, in which Mr. Drake, at the Steinway, was a perfect accomplice.

Ms. Johnson Cano has the ideal voice, temperament, and personality for these songs; her gift for musical characterization is spot on, and is reflected in her stage manner: she plays the diva one moment and the loving lady the next. Singing with her warm, inviting mezzo timbre, Ms. Johnson Cano was particularly lovely in the cycle’s penultimate song, “Kommt der manchmal in den Sinn” where, at the words “Täusch mich nicht, verlass mich nicht…” the melody takes up an air of longing which the singer conveyed with expressive vocal colours. In the Brahms, as all evening, Julius Drake’s playing was so inviting.

Following the interval, Janáček’s The Diary of One Who Vanished, was given a mesmerizing performance by Mr. Polenzani, Ms. Johnson Cano, and three offstage singers: Kathleen O’Mara, soprano, and mezzo-sopranos Marie Engle and Megan Grey. At the piano, Julius Drake played this music – which might be described as a chamber opera – with a vast range of colour and brilliant rhythmic clarity.

This is the story of a young village boy who fell in love with a gypsy beauty and abandoned his safe and simple life to join her in her wanderings. Originally thought to have been drawn from the boy’s discarded diary, the story was eventually discovered to have been written by Josef Kalda, a accomplished author from Prague. In his 62nd year, Janáček himself fell under the spell of a much younger ‘gypsy’ woman; their relationship was revealed in a series of passionate letters, published in the 1980s.

Julius Drake’s phenomenal artistry was a key element in this fascinating work; one hardly needs an orchestra with this gentleman at the Steinway. His playing again superbly matched Mr. Polenzani’s singing: full of passion, poetry, intensity and natural beauty of expression.

The first several songs of The Diary of One Who Vanished are given over to the tenor: what a great pleasure to hear Mr. Polenzani and Mr. Drake here in a long stretch of music-making of such evocative qualities. Ms. Johnson Cano then appears, singing splendidly, with a bewitching, smouldering quality to her lower range. An offstage trio of voices – Mlles. O’Mara, Engle, and Grey – produced a lovely blend that sometimes brought to mind Wagner’s Rhinemaidens, or Strauss’s ARIADNE nymphs.

The finale is an extended sing for the tenor, again with Mr. Drake playing grandly. From lyrical outpourings, the music turns to a hymn of farewell sung by the boy about to take leave of his homeland. Here Mr. Polenzani unleashed hall-filling power; the audience could scarcely restrain themselves from applauding until the last echoes from the Steinway had faded.

At the end of the Janáček, the sold out hall was the scene of a tumultuous standing ovation. As the artists came forward to bow, the audience clearly wanted more music. But what sort of encore could follow such a performance? After a long delay, during which the applause redoubled, Mr. Polenzani and Mr. Drake came onstage again.

The tenor spoke of the difficulty of finding the right piece to sing after the drama of the Janáček. In the course of his travels, he said, the most-requested song was the universally beloved “O Danny Boy‘. Taking up the thrice-familiar melody, which has been sung by everyone from Ernestine Schumann-Heink to Johnny Cash, Mr. Polenzani gave the most ravishing performance of it I could ever hope to hear. The words – so simple and moving – came from the heart, and the colours of the voice were haunting. People around me were holding back tears as Mr. Polenzani took the final ascending phrase of the song to an exquisitely sustained final note than hung magically on the air.

~ Oberon

February 24, 2019
A Huw Watkins Premiere @ CMS

Above: composer Huw Watkins; photo by B Ealovega

~ Author: Oberon

Friday February 22nd, 2019 – The US premiere of Huw Watkins‘ Quintet for Piano, Two Violins, Viola, and Cello was the centerpiece of this evening’s Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center concert at Alice Tully Hall. The evening further afforded an all-too-rare chance to hear some Khachaturian. As always, the Society drew together a formidable ensemble of musicians, including some particular favorites of mine.

Unfortunately, my enjoyment of the performance was seriously compromised by the thoughtless behavior of some audience members who were seated (late) in my immediate area. The opening Debussy sonata – excellently played – was thoroughly to my liking: I felt relaxed amid a crowd of eagerly attentive music lovers. Then the intruders arrived: after having my foot stepped on and being hit in the face by a large pocketbook, I tried to re-connect to the music – the much-anticipated Khachaturian – but these new arrivals took time settling in. Soon we had eating, drinking, texting, and picture-taking going on…to say nothing of someone with a noisy runny nose. It took all my powers of concentration to make it thru the fascinating Watkins, after which I headed home rather than trying to focus – against the odds – on the Brahms sextet that closed the evening.

Opening a program entitled ‘International Collection‘, France was represented by Claude Debussy’s Sonata for Cello and Piano (1915), a brief work in three movements. Cellist Paul Watkins and pianist Gilles Vonsattel brought us this music in a polished performance that evoked ardent applause, calling the two men back to the stage for a bow.

The sonata begins with Prologue, which commences with a piano solo. The music veers from animated to pensive; it builds and then becalms. Mr. Watkins’ handsome cello sound made a particularly fine impression in a descending passage where the resonance took on an inviting richness. This leads to a deep, poignant melody. Prologue fades gently away.

Mssrs. Watkins and Vonsattel then commence the witty Serenade, which has an almost sneaky feel to it. Some rather ironic cello plucking leads to a dance, which slows as Mr. Watkins provides some beautifully sustained notes. The Serenade flows directly into the Finale, which rolls along, alternately animated and somewhat thoughtful, to a quirky finish.

Now the latecomers were shown in; I looked around to see if there might be a seat I could move to, away from them. But there wasn’t.

Aram Khachaturian’s Trio for Clarinet, Violin, and Piano (1932) was played by the inimitable David Shifrin, joined by violinist Paul Huang and Mr. Vonsattel. This three-part work opens with an Andante of melancholy mood. Mr. Huang is soon un-spooling his trademark silken tone, to ravishing effect in its high range, whilst Mr. Shifrin’s colourful sound brings a folkish feeling to his swirling roulades. From the Steinway, Mr. Vonsattel provides impeccable turns of phrase. The music fades into air.

The vari-tempo range of the second movement commences with a sense of mystery and allure; sheer gorgeousness flows from Mr. Huang’s violin. Then things speed up with a peasant dance, which slows to provide a finely-blended mix from the three voices. The movement has an unusual ending.

Mr. Shifrin opens the concluding Moderato with a marvelously-hued solo, and then Mr. Vonsattel shines in his own solo passage. The mood turns jaunty, with the clarinet sounding sustained phrases as the violin comments; then they switch roles. Another piano solo takes us to a final dance, which slows and then begins to break down, as though the players have decided it’s time to pause for a drink.

The Watkins work came next: his Quintet for Piano, Two Violins, Viola, and Cello is a CMS co-commission, composed in 2017 and having its US premiere tonight. The composer could not have asked for a finer collective of musicians to advocate for him: Paul Huang and Alexander Sitkovetsky (violins), Richard O’Neill (viola) and the composer’s brother, Paul Watkins (cello).

The Quintet’s opening Allegro molto kicks off with a fun, jazzy passage; soon, though, the music turns poetic, with a sense of longing. The strings blend marvelously over rapturous piano figurations. As the music becomes more animated, Mr. Huang’s violin soars: he plays over rippling motifs from Mr. Vonsattel’s keyboard while the other strings mesh in dense, highish passages. Outstanding was a poignant ‘chorale’ for the strings as the piano held onto a simple line…so wonderful to hear. Growing in intensity, the music becomes impassioned; then Richard O’Neill’s moonlit viola sings a sad passage. Things settle into a hesitant calm as the movement draws to a close.

By this point I am thoroughly intrigued; but there is still more to fascinate us ahead. The Lento opens with a sadly sweet violin theme radiating over teardrop notes from the piano. Paul Watkins’ cello joins, and sustained harmonies rise up from the collective. The O’Neill viola produces ‘shining music’, creating a haunting atmosphere. A sublime blending of timbres makes us want to linger, but we return to the movement’s opening violin/piano duo, so expressively played by Mssrs. Huang and Vonsattel. Briefly the music turns grand, only to shade away into delicacy. Paul Watkins takes up a poignant cello theme. The piano’s ‘teardrop’ motif recurs, now with Mr. Huang carrying our spirits to the heights with his serene playing. A long, long unison note from the strings is sustained as a hush settles over the hall.

Springlike music fills the air, with the piano shimmering, as the concluding Allegro vivace commences. Rising strings herald an increase in animation…and passion. Calming a bit, we hear Mr. Huang and his fellow violinist Alexander Sitkovetsky duetting whilst the viola and cello take a more settled stance. The music then erupts in a joyous tempest of sound to bring the Quintet to its close.

As applause resounded, the composer walked out onto the stage, thinking the musicians were right behind him; instead, they held back, leaving Huw Watkins to have a solo curtain call. The players then joined him, to enjoy the waves of approbation filling the house. They all left, but the audience – everyone standing – insisted on a much-merited second bow.

In an age when so much ‘new’ music is expertly-crafted but fails to evoke an emotional response, Huw Watkins’ new Piano Quintet felt like a breath of fresh air.

I was sorry to forego hearing tonight’s excellent group of string players in the Johannes Brahms’ Sextet No. 2, but enough is enough: it’s the triumph of indifference, yet again, as people who don’t care spoil things for people who do.

~ Oberon

February 22, 2019
Nicolai Ghiaurov as Boris Godounov

Nicolai Ghiaurov signed this photo for me after a performance of DON CARLO at The Met in 1968.

Nicolai Ghiaurov – Skorbit Dusha! ~ BORIS GODOUNOV

February 21, 2019