Composer: Dmitri Shostakovich
Conductor: James Conlon
Producer/Director: Graham Vick
Katerina: Eva-Maria Westbroek
Sergei: Brandon Jovanovich
Boris: Anatoli Kotscherga
Zinovy: Raymond Very
I first came across Shostakovich's Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk several years ago at the Kennedy Center, where Valery Gergiev conducted the Kirov Opera in a ferocious concert version of it that blew critics and audience away in one fell swoop, and made us all forgive and forget the rather pedestrian productions of Falstaff and Viaggio a Reims they had put us through earlier in the year. Sometimes all it takes are the shenanigans of a hot and bothered housewife of the Russian countryside to spice up an otherwise humdrum residency.
Stalin, on the other hand, did not appreciate the popular opera back in the days. Apparently more disturbed by the unapologetically dissonant music than by the explosive cocktail of a dysfunctional family, bare-faced sexuality and grisly crimes, he had the Pravda roundly condemn it, effectively depriving the Russian public of it for the next three decades. Just like that. Fortunately, times have changed and these days the world can indulge in the work's musical and dramatic values again in the full original version.
Nevertheless, Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk is still not one of the frequently performed operas, so I was overjoyed a few months ago when I saw it in the Metropolitan Opera's line-up for the 2014-2015 season. And this was with great expectations that I walked down Broadway yesterday, while being definitely conflicted between the disheartening sight of so many cut Christmas trees and the unavoidable enjoyment of their captivating fragrance, to spend my afternoon with the woman who decided to get a life at all costs, and paid the ultimate price for it.
Although he drew inspiration from Nikolai Leskov's horror story Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District, Shostakovich made sure to somewhat sugar-coat the plot for his own opera, which incidentally gives a fair warning about the original. But not to worry, there's still enough bitter satire, surreal decadence and loud raunchiness, not to mention a thrilling score, to make it the delicious guilty pleasure it has become, and yesterday afternoon the buzzing full opera house was eagerly looking forward to it.
The starting time was slightly delayed by malfunctioning lights in the orchestra pit, but once the performance got going, it kept on boldly going, and so did Dutch soprano Eva-Maria Westbroek, a truly fabulous Marilynesque Katerina from beginning to end, which was no small feat considering that she was onstage almost the entire time. From hopelessly bored housewife to jealous and suicidal murderess, she made her heroine a complex, and ultimately rather sympathetic, character through her superb singing and acting skills. She is blessed with an intense, beautiful and versatile voice that she assuredly plied to the tiniest nuances for maximum effect. From the title role of Anna Nicole to Die Walküre's Sieglinde and many others, this fearless artist evidently has an incredible range and seemingly limitless potential.
I cant' wait to hear her again.
Her worthy partner in crime was American tenor Brandon Jovanovich. A first-class opportunist, his lover boy Sergei confidently strutted his impressive stuff, which included a strong, expressive voice and an unmistakable physical presence à la young Marlon Brando. Whether playing rough with Katerina or smooth talking her into killing her husband, he clearly knew how to get his way and took full advantage of it.
Ukrainian bass Anatoli Kotscherga did wonders with the thankless part of Boris, Katrina's authoritative father-in-law, whose purpose in life was apparently to be the most uncouth dirty old man of them all. His voice had the wide range needed to be starkly effective, and he wholeheartedly embraced the juicy part.
There were myriads of smaller parts that were filled with excellent singers like Raymond Very as Zinovy, the hapless impotent husband, Michael Kolelidhvili as the comical priest, Dmitry Belosselskiy as the old convict, Oksana Volkova as the shameless floozy.
The Met Chorus, which has to be the hardest-working vocal ensemble in show business, has proven once again that it is also probably one of the best ones too. They constantly changed costumes and circumstances without ever missing a beat or letting their terrific singing falter ever so slightly, even as they were running all over the huge stage.
Graham Vick's production is a couple of decades old and has understandably undergone a few updates, but it is still an eye-popping delight. Placing the action in the fifties or so, the colorful (Was that bed hot pink or what?!) and minimalist (A few pieces of furniture, a car and the occasional prop) set was easily adjustable and therefore succeeded in keeping the logistical fuss at a minimum. The background consisted of a slanted cloudy sky mural with an upper gallery on which the chorus would sometimes appear and a series of doors which were put to clever use as well. As for the all-important refrigerator, I wondered if I should look for a Freudian association or something like that for a little while, then I gave up.
The ingenious set-up combined with imaginative lighting allowed to create some memorable scenes such as Katerina's fantasizing about men in various states of undress, her ambiguous first confrontation with Sergei on the testosterone-filled worksite, her violent seduction by Sergei which immediately brought to mind The Postman Always Rings Twice, the cartoonish music hall number by the police force, the nightmarish running of the bloodied brides, or the disco-ball-enhanced wedding party from hell.
The singing and staging may have been of the highest quality, but it is the music, a compellingly jarring hodgepodge of various styles, that expertly brought everything together. The Met Orchestra, which has never met a score it could not masterfully handle, delivered a superb performance of Shostakovich's endlessly inventive yet always accessible composition. Under the baton of Met veteran James Conlon, the musicians, with a special nod for the brass, brilliantly emphasized not only the darkness, but also the grotesque, the humor and the occasional tenderness of the story, with intensity and precision.
As I was leaving my seat after the performance was over, I heard the young guy in the row behind me confide to his buddy that he felt he needed to "take a shower". I bet Shostakovich would have been thrilled.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Leonidas Kavakos & Yuja Wang - Brahms, Schumann, Ravel & Respighi - 11/22/14
Brahms: Violin Sonata No. 2 in A Major
Schumann: Violin Sonata No. 2 in D Minor
Ravel: Violin Sonata (Posthumous)
Respighi: Violin Sonata in B Minor
As I was happily working my way through my serendipitous "Eight performances in eight days" mini-marathon, last Saturday was reserved for the crossing of the finish line back at Carnegie Hall, but in the Stern Auditorium this time, with a recital by Leonidas Kavakos and Yuja Wang. Although Zankel Hall is a much more appropriate space for this kind of intimate performance, the popularity of both performers forced them – and us – to move to the larger hall to accommodate the expected high demand.
I was in fact very curious to hear the musical sum of those two performing parts because I had a hard time imagining the combination of the well-established, thoughful violinist from Greece and the fast-rising, impetuous pianist from China. A promising program including some standard oldies but goodies by Brahms and Schumann, along with some welcome rarities by Ravel and Respighi, sounded just about the right cocktail for it.
And that’s obviously what they thought too since they showed up onstage stylishly dressed in black from head to toe as if ready to hit the New York party scene, he looking every bit like the soulful musician who lives exclusively for his art, she in a form-fitting dress short enough to guarantee her immediate admittance in the most select nightclubs.
Back to the musical component of the evening, Brahms' Violin Sonata No. 2 started the concert on a serene and radiant note, like a delightful sunny stroll in the countryside. Eons away from the famous pyrotechnics of the violin concerto the composer had just completed, this sonata is an uncomplicated, relaxed and animated dialogue between two long-time friends. On Saturday night, the duo on the stage eventually settled into an easy-going exchange, even if it seemed to take a little while for them to fully hit their stride together.
Then we moved on to Schumann's Violin Sonata No. 2, a longer and more challenging work that provided both musicians plenty of opportunities to display their truly dazzling virtuosic skills. There were a lot of fiery passages to marvel at, but the quieter moments created a real intimacy that was genuinely moving as well. It was an expansive, eventful journey, and the audience fully enjoyed it until the very end.
After those staples of the Romantic chamber music repertoire, the time had come for more recent pieces, first with the one-movement Violin Sonata that Ravel wrote as a student and never published in his lifetime. Listening to the work's gently melodic waves and boldly soaring peaks, I could not help but be baffled by the 22-year-old composer's lack of confidence toward this unquestionably attractive effort. Yuja Wang's assertive playing did not overpower Leonidas Kavakos' more subdued tone, although it sometimes came a bit too close to it for comfort.
More blazing sparks flew during Respighi's Violin Sonata, whose rich lyricism and natural radiance immediately brought to mind Brahms and Franck. The conventional three movements may essentially deliver the emotional intensity favored by the late Romantics, but when performed by those two highly accomplished musicians, there was really nothing more we could have asked for.
We did not literally ask for them, but our endless ovation unmistakably dropped quite a loud hint, so before we departed, we were treated to two delicious encores. The "Danse russe" from Stravinsky's Petrushka was a little marvel of laser-like precision and high spirits. Then we went back to Brahms for his lively Scherzo from the "FAE" Sonata, which was executed with just the right amount of sensitivity and brio. A totally exhilarating finish to a lovely evening, and an extensive test of endurance. Then I went to sleep.
Schumann: Violin Sonata No. 2 in D Minor
Ravel: Violin Sonata (Posthumous)
Respighi: Violin Sonata in B Minor
As I was happily working my way through my serendipitous "Eight performances in eight days" mini-marathon, last Saturday was reserved for the crossing of the finish line back at Carnegie Hall, but in the Stern Auditorium this time, with a recital by Leonidas Kavakos and Yuja Wang. Although Zankel Hall is a much more appropriate space for this kind of intimate performance, the popularity of both performers forced them – and us – to move to the larger hall to accommodate the expected high demand.
I was in fact very curious to hear the musical sum of those two performing parts because I had a hard time imagining the combination of the well-established, thoughful violinist from Greece and the fast-rising, impetuous pianist from China. A promising program including some standard oldies but goodies by Brahms and Schumann, along with some welcome rarities by Ravel and Respighi, sounded just about the right cocktail for it.
And that’s obviously what they thought too since they showed up onstage stylishly dressed in black from head to toe as if ready to hit the New York party scene, he looking every bit like the soulful musician who lives exclusively for his art, she in a form-fitting dress short enough to guarantee her immediate admittance in the most select nightclubs.
Back to the musical component of the evening, Brahms' Violin Sonata No. 2 started the concert on a serene and radiant note, like a delightful sunny stroll in the countryside. Eons away from the famous pyrotechnics of the violin concerto the composer had just completed, this sonata is an uncomplicated, relaxed and animated dialogue between two long-time friends. On Saturday night, the duo on the stage eventually settled into an easy-going exchange, even if it seemed to take a little while for them to fully hit their stride together.
Then we moved on to Schumann's Violin Sonata No. 2, a longer and more challenging work that provided both musicians plenty of opportunities to display their truly dazzling virtuosic skills. There were a lot of fiery passages to marvel at, but the quieter moments created a real intimacy that was genuinely moving as well. It was an expansive, eventful journey, and the audience fully enjoyed it until the very end.
After those staples of the Romantic chamber music repertoire, the time had come for more recent pieces, first with the one-movement Violin Sonata that Ravel wrote as a student and never published in his lifetime. Listening to the work's gently melodic waves and boldly soaring peaks, I could not help but be baffled by the 22-year-old composer's lack of confidence toward this unquestionably attractive effort. Yuja Wang's assertive playing did not overpower Leonidas Kavakos' more subdued tone, although it sometimes came a bit too close to it for comfort.
More blazing sparks flew during Respighi's Violin Sonata, whose rich lyricism and natural radiance immediately brought to mind Brahms and Franck. The conventional three movements may essentially deliver the emotional intensity favored by the late Romantics, but when performed by those two highly accomplished musicians, there was really nothing more we could have asked for.
We did not literally ask for them, but our endless ovation unmistakably dropped quite a loud hint, so before we departed, we were treated to two delicious encores. The "Danse russe" from Stravinsky's Petrushka was a little marvel of laser-like precision and high spirits. Then we went back to Brahms for his lively Scherzo from the "FAE" Sonata, which was executed with just the right amount of sensitivity and brio. A totally exhilarating finish to a lovely evening, and an extensive test of endurance. Then I went to sleep.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
American Composers Orchestra - Orchestra Underground: Monk's Sphere - 11/21/14
Conductor: George Manahan
A. J. McAffrey: Motormouth
Ian Williams: Clear Image
Theo Bleckmann: My Brightest Garment
Loren Loiacono: Stalks, Hounds
Meredith Monk: Night
After happily becoming acquainted with new choral music in Brooklyn on Thursday night, I was back at Carnegie Hall on Friday night, in Zankel's intimate underground space this time, to become acquainted with more new choral and instrumental music courtesy of the American Composers Orchestra. The only orchestra in the world uncompromisingly dedicated to American composers and their works, the ACO took the opportunity of artistic multitasker extraordinaire Meredith Monk reaching 50 years of non-stop ground-breaking creativity this year - and incidentally her 72nd birthday the day before - to throw a party of sorts showcasing some already much buzzed-about American composers of the new generation.
To get things going in a positive mood, the concert opened with A. J. McAffrey's "Motormouth", a restless 15-minute piece that seemed to take off in every possible direction and put itself through a wide range of moods in doing so, just like the composer's four-year-old son eagerly repeating the same joke over and over again with numerous variations. It left us all exhausted, but exhilarated.
We cooled off by listening to Ian Williams' electro-rock "Clear image", whose intriguing goal was to explore the differences between a multi-track recording and live music. The result was a jumpy, and not always particularly pleasing to the ear, pseudo-conversation between an annoyingly dysfunctioning R2-D2 and a standard instrumental orchestra that at times bothered to respond. Nothing much seemed to come out of this tedious exercise, or I completely missed it.
Coming up next, Theo Bleckmann's "My Brightest Garment" was a somewhat playful song about death seen as a magician's ultimate disappearing act. Simple but impactful, it started nice and sweet before growing into a wild ball of spiky energy. It was a decidedly cool little musical piece, and it would have been cooler without the lyrics or the electronics.
After realizing that the pretty sounds she had heard as a child when playing a Barbie's Dream House-based computer game essentially came from Ravel's lavish Daphnis et Chloé, Loren Loiacono set out to use the same concept for her own "Stalks, Hounds". Opening with a harp and woodwinds flourish similar to Ravel's, her composition steadily evolved into something completely different, but still intrinsically attractive.
The four youngsters above may have strived and occasionally succeeded in coming up with more or less satisfying works, but at the end of the day, Meredith Monk's "Night", performed by a distinguished vocal ensemble, including composer-turned-baritone Theo Bleckman, and the full orchestra, categorically proved that she could easily out-compose them all. Originally written in 1996 and revised in 2005, the immediately engaging, vaguely mystical work was clever without being flashy, adventurous without being inaccessible, unique without being self-centered. It endlessly created exciting relationships between voices and instruments, engaged in small sound experiments that were brilliantly illuminating at best and interestingly odd at worse, and effectively demonstrated how appealing bold contemporary music can be. Long live Meredith Monk!
A. J. McAffrey: Motormouth
Ian Williams: Clear Image
Theo Bleckmann: My Brightest Garment
Loren Loiacono: Stalks, Hounds
Meredith Monk: Night
After happily becoming acquainted with new choral music in Brooklyn on Thursday night, I was back at Carnegie Hall on Friday night, in Zankel's intimate underground space this time, to become acquainted with more new choral and instrumental music courtesy of the American Composers Orchestra. The only orchestra in the world uncompromisingly dedicated to American composers and their works, the ACO took the opportunity of artistic multitasker extraordinaire Meredith Monk reaching 50 years of non-stop ground-breaking creativity this year - and incidentally her 72nd birthday the day before - to throw a party of sorts showcasing some already much buzzed-about American composers of the new generation.
To get things going in a positive mood, the concert opened with A. J. McAffrey's "Motormouth", a restless 15-minute piece that seemed to take off in every possible direction and put itself through a wide range of moods in doing so, just like the composer's four-year-old son eagerly repeating the same joke over and over again with numerous variations. It left us all exhausted, but exhilarated.
We cooled off by listening to Ian Williams' electro-rock "Clear image", whose intriguing goal was to explore the differences between a multi-track recording and live music. The result was a jumpy, and not always particularly pleasing to the ear, pseudo-conversation between an annoyingly dysfunctioning R2-D2 and a standard instrumental orchestra that at times bothered to respond. Nothing much seemed to come out of this tedious exercise, or I completely missed it.
Coming up next, Theo Bleckmann's "My Brightest Garment" was a somewhat playful song about death seen as a magician's ultimate disappearing act. Simple but impactful, it started nice and sweet before growing into a wild ball of spiky energy. It was a decidedly cool little musical piece, and it would have been cooler without the lyrics or the electronics.
After realizing that the pretty sounds she had heard as a child when playing a Barbie's Dream House-based computer game essentially came from Ravel's lavish Daphnis et Chloé, Loren Loiacono set out to use the same concept for her own "Stalks, Hounds". Opening with a harp and woodwinds flourish similar to Ravel's, her composition steadily evolved into something completely different, but still intrinsically attractive.
The four youngsters above may have strived and occasionally succeeded in coming up with more or less satisfying works, but at the end of the day, Meredith Monk's "Night", performed by a distinguished vocal ensemble, including composer-turned-baritone Theo Bleckman, and the full orchestra, categorically proved that she could easily out-compose them all. Originally written in 1996 and revised in 2005, the immediately engaging, vaguely mystical work was clever without being flashy, adventurous without being inaccessible, unique without being self-centered. It endlessly created exciting relationships between voices and instruments, engaged in small sound experiments that were brilliantly illuminating at best and interestingly odd at worse, and effectively demonstrated how appealing bold contemporary music can be. Long live Meredith Monk!
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Brooklyn Youth Chorus - Black Mountain Songs - 11/20/14
Choral Director & Conductor: Dianne Berkun-Menaker
Creator: Bryce Dessner
John King: aer imitatur naturam
Bryce Dessner: Black Mountain Song
Richard Reed Parry: there is a sound
Caroline Shaw: Its Motion Keeps
Bryce Dessner: My World
Aleksandra Vrebalov: Bubbles
Jherek Bischoff: Childhood's Dreams
Nico Muhly: Fielding Dawson in Franz Kline's Studio
Bryce Dessner: Maximus to Gloucester
Richard Reed Parry: Spaceship Earth
Caroline Shaw: Anni's Constant
Richard Reed Parry: Their Passing in Time
Additional music:
Tim Hecker and Bryce Dessner: M.C. Richard
After attending one performance per day for the past five days and having two more lined up for the next two days, I had figured that I should take Thursday night off and just stay home. But I had not taken into account the irresistible siren song coming from the Brooklyn Youth Chorus all the way from BAM's cool Harvey Theater, where the unstoppable ensemble would première Black Mountain Songs, a 90-minute choral work co-commissioned by BAM and the Brooklyn Youth Chorus, created by Bryce Dressner, and inspired by North Carolina's erstwhile Black Mountain College, an informal community of teachers and students deeply dedicated to carrying out its intergenerational and multidisciplinary mission in a highly collaborative atmosphere.
Accordingly, eight composers have industriously collaborated for the past three years, eventually coming up with twelve songs that would be interspersed with readings and enhanced with the occasional dance number and photo or video projection. Running the whole show would be Dianne Berkun-Menaker and her consistently excellent Brooklyn Youth Chorus, a sizeable group of predominantly female teenagers who delivered dazzling performances the couple of times I got to hear them at Carnegie Hall. I could not have imagined a better singing force to embody Black Mountain's youthful, creative and collaborative spirit, or a better reason to go out on what was supposed to be my night at home.
Polyphony seemed to be the name of the game on Thursday night, whether stemming from Black Mountain's multi-faceted raison d'être or the music's endlessly complex harmonies. The multitude of composers involved in the project, among whom the most recognizable names may be Caroline Shaw, Nico Muhly, Richard Reed Parry and Bryce Dessner himself, also provided an impressively wide range of songs, which for the most part relied on poetry or text related to Black Mountain.
From John King's stunningly ethereal "aer imitatur naturam", sung by chorus members located in the stairs, the boxes and on the stage, all the way to Richard Reed Parry's red-hot "Their Passing in Time", which including a lot of fiercely rhythmical stomping, the audience found itself immersed in a totally engaging performance that was paying a sincere tribute to the ground-breaking educational experiment.
Inevitably, some songs stood out more than others. In addition to the powerful opening and closing numbers, I particularly noted Caroline Shaw's "Its Motion Keeps", which started inconspicuously with the composer on the viola and the chorus singing at its clearest, before growing into a soaring tapestry of sounds examining the ever-elusive concept of time.
Bryce Dessner's "Maximus to Gloucester" organically evoked America's original seaport and Richard Reed Parry's "Spaceship Earth" eloquently spoke of Buckminster Fuller's work, both supported by insightful visuals. Nico Muhly's spirited "Fielding Dawson in Franz Kline's Studio" proved that choral singing could be a lot of fun too, as did Aleksandra Vrebalov's whimsical "Bubbles".
The Brooklyn Youth Chorus being made of 50 young people, the singing was predictably fresh, fearless and energetic. More surprising was their uncanny ability to handle complicated harmonies and generally difficult passages, a challenge that they apparently found more stimulating than paralyzing if we are to believe the beautiful sounds they were creating. Granted, these beautiful sounds sometimes happened at the expense of articulation, which is regrettable when the text is such a crucial part of the whole show, but the experience was too exhilarating to dwell on it too much.
Complementing the musical performance was the projection of photos taken at Black Mountain during its years of operation, from 1933 to 1957, as well as photo and videos of related topics. While we were not always sure who we were looking at, it still made the seemingly utopian institution and its people a more palpable reality.
The small orchestra played on an elevated platform in the back, non-obtrusive and yet very much present. On the discreetly rustic stage, the singers and dancers, clad in free-flowing light-colored clothes, had plenty of room to move around freely, while the narrators, which included the poet and artist Basil King, a Brooklynite since 1969 and former Black Mountain student, and some of the singers, read from the sides. This simple setting made the performance accessible and compelling.
Black Mountain College has had a direct influence on a large array of cultural luminaries ‒ By default it did not matter of they were teachers or students ‒ such as John Cage, Merce Cunningham, Willem de Kooning, Robert Rauschenberg, Cy Twombly, Franz Kline, Robert Creely, Charles Olson and Buckminster Fuller, just to name a few. I bet they would be pleased with Black Mountain Songs.
Creator: Bryce Dessner
John King: aer imitatur naturam
Bryce Dessner: Black Mountain Song
Richard Reed Parry: there is a sound
Caroline Shaw: Its Motion Keeps
Bryce Dessner: My World
Aleksandra Vrebalov: Bubbles
Jherek Bischoff: Childhood's Dreams
Nico Muhly: Fielding Dawson in Franz Kline's Studio
Bryce Dessner: Maximus to Gloucester
Richard Reed Parry: Spaceship Earth
Caroline Shaw: Anni's Constant
Richard Reed Parry: Their Passing in Time
Additional music:
Tim Hecker and Bryce Dessner: M.C. Richard
After attending one performance per day for the past five days and having two more lined up for the next two days, I had figured that I should take Thursday night off and just stay home. But I had not taken into account the irresistible siren song coming from the Brooklyn Youth Chorus all the way from BAM's cool Harvey Theater, where the unstoppable ensemble would première Black Mountain Songs, a 90-minute choral work co-commissioned by BAM and the Brooklyn Youth Chorus, created by Bryce Dressner, and inspired by North Carolina's erstwhile Black Mountain College, an informal community of teachers and students deeply dedicated to carrying out its intergenerational and multidisciplinary mission in a highly collaborative atmosphere.
Accordingly, eight composers have industriously collaborated for the past three years, eventually coming up with twelve songs that would be interspersed with readings and enhanced with the occasional dance number and photo or video projection. Running the whole show would be Dianne Berkun-Menaker and her consistently excellent Brooklyn Youth Chorus, a sizeable group of predominantly female teenagers who delivered dazzling performances the couple of times I got to hear them at Carnegie Hall. I could not have imagined a better singing force to embody Black Mountain's youthful, creative and collaborative spirit, or a better reason to go out on what was supposed to be my night at home.
Polyphony seemed to be the name of the game on Thursday night, whether stemming from Black Mountain's multi-faceted raison d'être or the music's endlessly complex harmonies. The multitude of composers involved in the project, among whom the most recognizable names may be Caroline Shaw, Nico Muhly, Richard Reed Parry and Bryce Dessner himself, also provided an impressively wide range of songs, which for the most part relied on poetry or text related to Black Mountain.
From John King's stunningly ethereal "aer imitatur naturam", sung by chorus members located in the stairs, the boxes and on the stage, all the way to Richard Reed Parry's red-hot "Their Passing in Time", which including a lot of fiercely rhythmical stomping, the audience found itself immersed in a totally engaging performance that was paying a sincere tribute to the ground-breaking educational experiment.
Inevitably, some songs stood out more than others. In addition to the powerful opening and closing numbers, I particularly noted Caroline Shaw's "Its Motion Keeps", which started inconspicuously with the composer on the viola and the chorus singing at its clearest, before growing into a soaring tapestry of sounds examining the ever-elusive concept of time.
Bryce Dessner's "Maximus to Gloucester" organically evoked America's original seaport and Richard Reed Parry's "Spaceship Earth" eloquently spoke of Buckminster Fuller's work, both supported by insightful visuals. Nico Muhly's spirited "Fielding Dawson in Franz Kline's Studio" proved that choral singing could be a lot of fun too, as did Aleksandra Vrebalov's whimsical "Bubbles".
The Brooklyn Youth Chorus being made of 50 young people, the singing was predictably fresh, fearless and energetic. More surprising was their uncanny ability to handle complicated harmonies and generally difficult passages, a challenge that they apparently found more stimulating than paralyzing if we are to believe the beautiful sounds they were creating. Granted, these beautiful sounds sometimes happened at the expense of articulation, which is regrettable when the text is such a crucial part of the whole show, but the experience was too exhilarating to dwell on it too much.
Complementing the musical performance was the projection of photos taken at Black Mountain during its years of operation, from 1933 to 1957, as well as photo and videos of related topics. While we were not always sure who we were looking at, it still made the seemingly utopian institution and its people a more palpable reality.
The small orchestra played on an elevated platform in the back, non-obtrusive and yet very much present. On the discreetly rustic stage, the singers and dancers, clad in free-flowing light-colored clothes, had plenty of room to move around freely, while the narrators, which included the poet and artist Basil King, a Brooklynite since 1969 and former Black Mountain student, and some of the singers, read from the sides. This simple setting made the performance accessible and compelling.
Black Mountain College has had a direct influence on a large array of cultural luminaries ‒ By default it did not matter of they were teachers or students ‒ such as John Cage, Merce Cunningham, Willem de Kooning, Robert Rauschenberg, Cy Twombly, Franz Kline, Robert Creely, Charles Olson and Buckminster Fuller, just to name a few. I bet they would be pleased with Black Mountain Songs.
San Francisco Symphony - Mahler - 11/19/14
Conductor: Michael Tilson-Thomas
Mahler: Symphony No. 7 in E Minor
After enjoying Anne-Sophie Mutter and her young Mutter Virtuosi ensemble in Vivaldi's crowd-pleasing The Four Seasons on Tuesday night, I was back in the same spot of the Stern Auditorium for a very different program ‒ and with very different expectations ‒ 24 hours later. Although last season the striking musicians of the San Francisco Symphony caused the cancellation of their Carnegie Hall performance of Mahler's Symphony No. 9, it looked like they were going to make it this season for Mahler's lesser-known but no less appealing Symphony No. 7. Then I knew that the concert was definitely on when I received the customary phone message from Carnegie Hall reminding us of their late seating policy. Mahler is serious business over there.
Yannick Nézet-Séguin and his Philadelphia Orchestra treated Carnegie Hall's packed audience to a magnificent Symphony No. 9 a couple of weeks ago, and on Wednesday night I sat down hoping for Michael Tilson-Thomas and his San Francisco Symphony to treat the less packed audience (But how do you compete with the Ninth?) to an equally magnificent Symphony No. 7, all the more since the tireless music director and conductor is widely recognized as a Mahler expert and the recordings he and the orchestra made of Mahler's symphonies are by and large considered classics of the genre. Bring it on, MTT!
All things considered, I would not quite qualify the performance I attended on Wednesday of "magnificent", but this assessment is essentially due to the symphony's inherently uneven nature, which strongly contrasts with its symmetrical structure, and not to a lack of efforts from the conductor and orchestra.
The first and last movements could not be more similar in length and more drastically opposite in mood. The seductive grandeur of the former was there, but not as commandingly sweeping as could have been expected; on the other hand, the sunny cheerfulness of the latter happily resounded in the entire hall, as if after many challenging twists and turns the musicians were finally letting their hair down, before concluding the frequently chaotic journey on a puzzlingly random note. Go figure.
The two "Nachtmusik" movements book-ending the central Scherzo came out satisfactorily atmospheric, even if they sometimes lacked a bit of cohesion. The first one was appropriately spooky and full of unexpected occurrences that may or may not happen during a midnight stroll, the second one quickly turned into a magical serenade, which included a lovely number for solo violin.
In the middle of it all, the infernal "shadowy" Scherzo proudly stood out as the darkest movement of the entire piece, a Viennese waltz that kept on taking the wrong turn, was going crazy, and sounded as if it was relishing every minute of it. More precise refinery than macabre grotesquerie, it ended up being the most fun and memorable episode of the whole evening.
Ultimately, no matter how you look at it, Mahler's Symphony No. 7 stubbornly remains a mysterious epic, and Wednesday's often exciting, occasionally inconsistent performance of it by the committed orchestra, dedicated conductor and uniformly strong soloists did not do anything to change this notion. It is a weird beast that shall not be easily tamed, but it is a good thing that brave souls keep on trying.
Mahler: Symphony No. 7 in E Minor
After enjoying Anne-Sophie Mutter and her young Mutter Virtuosi ensemble in Vivaldi's crowd-pleasing The Four Seasons on Tuesday night, I was back in the same spot of the Stern Auditorium for a very different program ‒ and with very different expectations ‒ 24 hours later. Although last season the striking musicians of the San Francisco Symphony caused the cancellation of their Carnegie Hall performance of Mahler's Symphony No. 9, it looked like they were going to make it this season for Mahler's lesser-known but no less appealing Symphony No. 7. Then I knew that the concert was definitely on when I received the customary phone message from Carnegie Hall reminding us of their late seating policy. Mahler is serious business over there.
Yannick Nézet-Séguin and his Philadelphia Orchestra treated Carnegie Hall's packed audience to a magnificent Symphony No. 9 a couple of weeks ago, and on Wednesday night I sat down hoping for Michael Tilson-Thomas and his San Francisco Symphony to treat the less packed audience (But how do you compete with the Ninth?) to an equally magnificent Symphony No. 7, all the more since the tireless music director and conductor is widely recognized as a Mahler expert and the recordings he and the orchestra made of Mahler's symphonies are by and large considered classics of the genre. Bring it on, MTT!
All things considered, I would not quite qualify the performance I attended on Wednesday of "magnificent", but this assessment is essentially due to the symphony's inherently uneven nature, which strongly contrasts with its symmetrical structure, and not to a lack of efforts from the conductor and orchestra.
The first and last movements could not be more similar in length and more drastically opposite in mood. The seductive grandeur of the former was there, but not as commandingly sweeping as could have been expected; on the other hand, the sunny cheerfulness of the latter happily resounded in the entire hall, as if after many challenging twists and turns the musicians were finally letting their hair down, before concluding the frequently chaotic journey on a puzzlingly random note. Go figure.
The two "Nachtmusik" movements book-ending the central Scherzo came out satisfactorily atmospheric, even if they sometimes lacked a bit of cohesion. The first one was appropriately spooky and full of unexpected occurrences that may or may not happen during a midnight stroll, the second one quickly turned into a magical serenade, which included a lovely number for solo violin.
In the middle of it all, the infernal "shadowy" Scherzo proudly stood out as the darkest movement of the entire piece, a Viennese waltz that kept on taking the wrong turn, was going crazy, and sounded as if it was relishing every minute of it. More precise refinery than macabre grotesquerie, it ended up being the most fun and memorable episode of the whole evening.
Ultimately, no matter how you look at it, Mahler's Symphony No. 7 stubbornly remains a mysterious epic, and Wednesday's often exciting, occasionally inconsistent performance of it by the committed orchestra, dedicated conductor and uniformly strong soloists did not do anything to change this notion. It is a weird beast that shall not be easily tamed, but it is a good thing that brave souls keep on trying.
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Anne-Sophie Mutter Virtuosi - Bach, Previn & Vivaldi - 11/18/14
Bach: Concerto for Two Violins, Strings, and Continuo in D Minor, BWV 1043
André Previn: Concerto for Violin and String Orchestra (with two Harpsichord interludes)
Vivaldi: The Four Seasons
For most music lovers there are few pleasures in life that can equate to listening to Anne-Sophie Mutter play just about anything on the violin, and luckily for New Yorkers, she is the topic of a Carnegie Hall Perspectives series this season, which means that we can experience her ever-dazzling talent in a wide range of concerts, many of which focus on her unwavering commitment to music education and contemporary composers.
So this past Tuesday my friend Christine and I seized this opportunity to go hear Carnegie Hall’s unofficial Woman of the Year and some alumni of her Anne-Sophie Mutter Foundation, the Mutter Virtuosi, perform Vivaldi’s ever-popular The Four Seasons, which would be preceded by a major work by Bach and a US premiere by André Previn. The day was particularly cold and windy, but that obviously did not stop a large crowd, including an unusual high number of young people, to pack up the concert hall for a string-heavy concert led by the peerless violinist, who played like a goddess, and incidentally looked like one too.
Performing a demanding work by Johann Sebastian Bach with veteran violinist Anne-Sophie Mutter in Carnegie Hall's stately Stern Auditorium has to be an equally daunting and exciting milestone for any young musician, and it was occasionally felt in their playing, which was committed, for sure, but not as polished as it may have been in less paralyzing circumstances. There was still plenty to be enjoyed though, and it was. "Mutter" means "Mother" in German, and Anne-Sophie Mutter certainly kept a motherly watch over her protégés while still letting them engage in occasional flights of fancy on their own. Banding closely together, they did their best to bring out the austere beauty of the Concerto for Two Violins, Strings, and Continuo with dutiful studiousness, but also poise and gusto.
Dedicated to Anne-Sophie Mutter, André Previn’s Concerto for Violin and String Orchestra mostly stood out as a welcome transition to the Baroque masterpiece that was to follow it with its appealing lyricism, spiky passages, and two – slightly overextended, if you ask me – harpsichords interludes. Not as challenging as Bach and not as expansive as The Four Seasons, it turned out to be a pleasant, varied exercise, which soloist and students carried out nicely.
No matter how many times you've heard them, it is nearly impossible not to fall victim to the irresistible power of attraction of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons one more time. And sure enough, with its countless pretty melodies, richly evocative sounds and perfectly balanced movements, the universally beloved classic among classics beautifully unfolded from the stage on Tuesday evening, prompting so many applause outbursts between movements that after another wave of enthusiastic clapping rewarded a particularly lively celebration of fall harvest, Anne-Sophie Mutter had to point out to the audience that there was still "One more season!". Spring enchanted with nature’s rebirth, full of hope and promises, Summer's oppressive heat finally broke when the mighty storm exploded, Fall enthralled with colorful, care-free revelry, Winter emphasized the ethereally delicate snow and the unforgiving icy rain. A true master of emotional intelligence way before it became an over-used buzzword, Antonio Vivaldi came up with the perfect composition to prove once and for all that descriptive music could be powerful, sophisticated, and still please the crowds. The Mutter Virtuosi sounded totally in their element and delivered a happily exuberant performance around their leader’s virtuosic feats.
This special occasion was wrapped up with another, definitely no-holds-barred, rendition of the Summer's storm by Vivaldi, before coming full circle to Bach and a simply sublime "Air on a G String", the ultimate parting gift before going to the cold winter reality .
André Previn: Concerto for Violin and String Orchestra (with two Harpsichord interludes)
Vivaldi: The Four Seasons
For most music lovers there are few pleasures in life that can equate to listening to Anne-Sophie Mutter play just about anything on the violin, and luckily for New Yorkers, she is the topic of a Carnegie Hall Perspectives series this season, which means that we can experience her ever-dazzling talent in a wide range of concerts, many of which focus on her unwavering commitment to music education and contemporary composers.
So this past Tuesday my friend Christine and I seized this opportunity to go hear Carnegie Hall’s unofficial Woman of the Year and some alumni of her Anne-Sophie Mutter Foundation, the Mutter Virtuosi, perform Vivaldi’s ever-popular The Four Seasons, which would be preceded by a major work by Bach and a US premiere by André Previn. The day was particularly cold and windy, but that obviously did not stop a large crowd, including an unusual high number of young people, to pack up the concert hall for a string-heavy concert led by the peerless violinist, who played like a goddess, and incidentally looked like one too.
Performing a demanding work by Johann Sebastian Bach with veteran violinist Anne-Sophie Mutter in Carnegie Hall's stately Stern Auditorium has to be an equally daunting and exciting milestone for any young musician, and it was occasionally felt in their playing, which was committed, for sure, but not as polished as it may have been in less paralyzing circumstances. There was still plenty to be enjoyed though, and it was. "Mutter" means "Mother" in German, and Anne-Sophie Mutter certainly kept a motherly watch over her protégés while still letting them engage in occasional flights of fancy on their own. Banding closely together, they did their best to bring out the austere beauty of the Concerto for Two Violins, Strings, and Continuo with dutiful studiousness, but also poise and gusto.
Dedicated to Anne-Sophie Mutter, André Previn’s Concerto for Violin and String Orchestra mostly stood out as a welcome transition to the Baroque masterpiece that was to follow it with its appealing lyricism, spiky passages, and two – slightly overextended, if you ask me – harpsichords interludes. Not as challenging as Bach and not as expansive as The Four Seasons, it turned out to be a pleasant, varied exercise, which soloist and students carried out nicely.
No matter how many times you've heard them, it is nearly impossible not to fall victim to the irresistible power of attraction of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons one more time. And sure enough, with its countless pretty melodies, richly evocative sounds and perfectly balanced movements, the universally beloved classic among classics beautifully unfolded from the stage on Tuesday evening, prompting so many applause outbursts between movements that after another wave of enthusiastic clapping rewarded a particularly lively celebration of fall harvest, Anne-Sophie Mutter had to point out to the audience that there was still "One more season!". Spring enchanted with nature’s rebirth, full of hope and promises, Summer's oppressive heat finally broke when the mighty storm exploded, Fall enthralled with colorful, care-free revelry, Winter emphasized the ethereally delicate snow and the unforgiving icy rain. A true master of emotional intelligence way before it became an over-used buzzword, Antonio Vivaldi came up with the perfect composition to prove once and for all that descriptive music could be powerful, sophisticated, and still please the crowds. The Mutter Virtuosi sounded totally in their element and delivered a happily exuberant performance around their leader’s virtuosic feats.
This special occasion was wrapped up with another, definitely no-holds-barred, rendition of the Summer's storm by Vivaldi, before coming full circle to Bach and a simply sublime "Air on a G String", the ultimate parting gift before going to the cold winter reality .
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Music Mondays - Enso Quartet - Janacek, Puccini, Beethoven & Shostakovich - 11/17/14
Janacek: String Quartet No. 1, "Kreutzer Sonata"
Puccini: Chrysanthemums
Beethoven: String Quartet in C Major, Op. 59, No. 3
Shostakovich: Piano Quintet in G Minor, Op. 57 - Aaron Wunsch
There's nothing like a little bit (or even better, a lot) of high quality live music to brighten up a miserable, cold and wet, November Monday. So yesterday evening I headed straight to the Upper West Side's cozy Advent Lutheran Church for an intimate Music Mondays evening with the Enso Quartet. The much-acclaimed 15-year-old ensemble was scheduled to play an appealing smorgasbord of beloved and lesser-known works by celebrated composers and could have hardly found a more captive audience.
After an unofficial Czech festival at Carnegie Hall on Sunday afternoon, it seemed like my Monday evening would decidedly be Russian-flavored, starting with Janacek's "Kreutzer Sonata", which was inspired by Leo Tolstoy's novella "The Kreutzer Sonata", which itself incorporates Beethoven's famed "Kreutzer Sonata" in its plot. Since the story ends with a murder, it was going to be followed by Puccini's elegiac "Chrysanthemums", because it kind of made sense after all. Then we had Beethoven and his particularly upbeat String Quartet in C Major, Op. 59, No. 3, which was dedicated to Russian Prince Andrei Razumovsky, and finally the big centerpiece of the evening, the Stalin-prize winning Piano Quintet by Shostakovich, which could not be more Russian even if it tried. Davai!
Starting a concert by a particularly challenging work can be considered counter-intuitive, but on the other hand, everything is likely to go down smoothly after it. Janacek's "Kreutzer Sonata" deals with the painful theme of domestic abuse and ends with a husband killing his wife in an act of jealous rage. After experiencing Janacek's "Tutras Bulba", which features three wartime deaths, the day before, I admit that I briefly wondered about Janacek's apparent fixation on macabre tales. But the fact of the matter is, he does them very well, and the unapologetically dissonant score, peppered with passionate élans, seething quietness and violent outbursts, is probably one of the most unique musical studies in mental instability and its dreadful consequences. The Enso Quartet resolutely met the challenge, unafraid of producing gritty sounds or disturbing images, and delivered a starkly emotional performance.
What could bring better solace after a brutal murder that some stunningly lyrical "Chrysanthemums", courtesy of Italy's premier melody-maker Giacomo Puccini? This delightful little gem packed a big soothing punch in its few minutes, proving that a lot can be beautifully said with the right notes and the right players. We obviously had them last night.
Then we went back in time for Beethoven's String Quartet in C Major, Op. 59, No. 3, a superb piece from his middle period, when he had more or less come to terms with his hearing loss and decided to move on to even bigger and better things than before. With an inconspicuous opening and a grand finale, it bursts with sunny radiance and self-confident optimism, and kept the ensemble busy expertly weaving a superb tapestry from the spectacularly wide range of sounds.
Fully on Russian soil this time, we moved to the Piano Quintet in G Minor, Op. 57 by Shostakovich, for which the Enso Quartet was joined by dedicated pianist Aaron Wunsch, who also happens to be the unstoppable artistic director of Music Mondays. It cannot be denied that this piano quintet may sound a bit conventional from an artist well-known as a major figure of Modernism, which would incidentally explain its unabated popularity, but it is nevertheless a masterfully shifting, deeply expressive and all-around musically satisfying composition. And let's not forget that having the Soviet government keep a watchful eye on your every move does not exactly encourage you to take unreasonable chances of any kind. Finally, the poised performance of it we got to enjoy last night categorically showed that one could stay politically out of trouble and still create meaningful work. So there.
Puccini: Chrysanthemums
Beethoven: String Quartet in C Major, Op. 59, No. 3
Shostakovich: Piano Quintet in G Minor, Op. 57 - Aaron Wunsch
There's nothing like a little bit (or even better, a lot) of high quality live music to brighten up a miserable, cold and wet, November Monday. So yesterday evening I headed straight to the Upper West Side's cozy Advent Lutheran Church for an intimate Music Mondays evening with the Enso Quartet. The much-acclaimed 15-year-old ensemble was scheduled to play an appealing smorgasbord of beloved and lesser-known works by celebrated composers and could have hardly found a more captive audience.
After an unofficial Czech festival at Carnegie Hall on Sunday afternoon, it seemed like my Monday evening would decidedly be Russian-flavored, starting with Janacek's "Kreutzer Sonata", which was inspired by Leo Tolstoy's novella "The Kreutzer Sonata", which itself incorporates Beethoven's famed "Kreutzer Sonata" in its plot. Since the story ends with a murder, it was going to be followed by Puccini's elegiac "Chrysanthemums", because it kind of made sense after all. Then we had Beethoven and his particularly upbeat String Quartet in C Major, Op. 59, No. 3, which was dedicated to Russian Prince Andrei Razumovsky, and finally the big centerpiece of the evening, the Stalin-prize winning Piano Quintet by Shostakovich, which could not be more Russian even if it tried. Davai!
Starting a concert by a particularly challenging work can be considered counter-intuitive, but on the other hand, everything is likely to go down smoothly after it. Janacek's "Kreutzer Sonata" deals with the painful theme of domestic abuse and ends with a husband killing his wife in an act of jealous rage. After experiencing Janacek's "Tutras Bulba", which features three wartime deaths, the day before, I admit that I briefly wondered about Janacek's apparent fixation on macabre tales. But the fact of the matter is, he does them very well, and the unapologetically dissonant score, peppered with passionate élans, seething quietness and violent outbursts, is probably one of the most unique musical studies in mental instability and its dreadful consequences. The Enso Quartet resolutely met the challenge, unafraid of producing gritty sounds or disturbing images, and delivered a starkly emotional performance.
What could bring better solace after a brutal murder that some stunningly lyrical "Chrysanthemums", courtesy of Italy's premier melody-maker Giacomo Puccini? This delightful little gem packed a big soothing punch in its few minutes, proving that a lot can be beautifully said with the right notes and the right players. We obviously had them last night.
Then we went back in time for Beethoven's String Quartet in C Major, Op. 59, No. 3, a superb piece from his middle period, when he had more or less come to terms with his hearing loss and decided to move on to even bigger and better things than before. With an inconspicuous opening and a grand finale, it bursts with sunny radiance and self-confident optimism, and kept the ensemble busy expertly weaving a superb tapestry from the spectacularly wide range of sounds.
Fully on Russian soil this time, we moved to the Piano Quintet in G Minor, Op. 57 by Shostakovich, for which the Enso Quartet was joined by dedicated pianist Aaron Wunsch, who also happens to be the unstoppable artistic director of Music Mondays. It cannot be denied that this piano quintet may sound a bit conventional from an artist well-known as a major figure of Modernism, which would incidentally explain its unabated popularity, but it is nevertheless a masterfully shifting, deeply expressive and all-around musically satisfying composition. And let's not forget that having the Soviet government keep a watchful eye on your every move does not exactly encourage you to take unreasonable chances of any kind. Finally, the poised performance of it we got to enjoy last night categorically showed that one could stay politically out of trouble and still create meaningful work. So there.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Czech Philharmonic - Janacek, Liszt & Dvorak - 11/16/14
Conductor: Jiri Belohlavek
Janacek: Taras Bulba
Liszt: Piano Concerto No. 2 in A Major - Jean-Yves Thibaudet
Dvorak: Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 95, "From the New World"
With all the pessimistic talks and anguished discussions about the falling attendance at classical music and opera performances, taking my seat in a cultural venue hosting a sold-out show is always a comforting moment, even if I am painfully aware that it also comes with some unavoidable inconveniences, such as exponentially increased chances that a concert-goer will forget to turn off their electronic device and get a call, another one will take a photo of the soloist, send it from his iPhone and carry on a conversation about it all during the performance, or another one will drop her program during the Largo.
And sure enough, all of the above happened yesterday afternoon at Carnegie Hall, where after a sold-out concert by the Philadelphia Orchestra for Mahler's "Resurrection" symphony a couple of weeks ago, the Stern auditorium could boast of a sold-out concert by the Czech Philharmonic for Dvorak's "New World" symphony. Va-va-voom! So there is hope, even if it starts with big crowd-pleasers. The rest of the program sounded like a lot of fun too, with Janacek's "Taras Bulba" ‒ If we're having the premier Czech orchestra on the stage, we might as well celebrate Czech music ‒ and my personal motivation for being in the hall, Liszt's second piano concerto performed by my fellow Lyonnais piano man extraordinaire Jean-Yves Thibaudet.
The concert started on an openly nationalistic, musically engaging, but dramatically grim note, with Janacek's "Taras Bulba", a 25-minute work inspired Gogol's short story about the Ukrainian Cossack's fight against the Poles, in which each of the three movements features a death (Bulba's younger son, Bulba's older son, Bulba). With the inventiveness of Janacek's score and the dynamic conducting of Jiri Belohlavek strongly emphasizing the burning dilemma between personal feelings and patriotic duty, the story swiftly unfolded with lavish melodies and resounding fanfares in a fiercely colorful number.
The first time I heard Jean-Yves Thibaudet perform Liszt ‒That would be "Tottentanz" several years ago ‒ I immediately realized that those two were a match made in heaven. Although I'd go hear the most stylish pianist of them all play pretty much anything, the prospect of hearing him tackle Liszt always adds an extra, irresistible, incentive. Predictably, yesterday lived up to my sky-high expectations again, even as the typical flamboyance was significantly toned down to make room for subtle introspection and the orchestra was skillfully brought in as a more equal partner. On the other hand, Liszt will be Liszt, and there were still plenty of opportunities for Thibaudet to show off his impressive virtuosic skills and his gorgeous delicate touch all the way to the old-fashioned grand finale.
Since the one-movement piano concerto lasted a mere 20 minutes, Thibaudet generously extended his much appreciated stay among us with a heavenly account of Schubert 's "Kupelwieser-Walzer", arranged by Richard Strauss, which provided us with a wonderfully soothing respite between Liszt's lush Romanticism and Dvorak's American liveliness.
Dvorak's universally popular and widely quoted "New World" symphony is the kind of works that I never go out of my way for because I know that sooner or later our paths will cross, usually after I've been lured in by another item on the program. Then I hear it again and realize what an incredibly cool composition it is again, yesterday's richly earthy performance of it by the Czech Philharmonic being yet another case in point. A heart-felt tribute to America's culture and spirit, deeply influenced by Native-American and African-American music traditions, this classic among classics never fails to captivate the listener with its unpretentious freshness and boundless exuberance. Back for the umpteenth time in the Stern Auditorium where it was premiered 121 years ago, Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 gloriously took over the whole space, proudly rising, leisurely meditating, happily dancing, unequivocally triumphing. This is obviously the stuff the musicians were born to play, and this intensely committed performance would have made Dvorak very happy.
Obviously fired-up by what they had just achieved and the enthusiastic ovation it prompted from our part, conductor and orchestra decided to just carry on and treated us to an energetic overture to The Bartered Bride by Bedrich Smetana and a melancholic "Valse triste" by Oskar Nedbal, which pleasantly rounded up our quick, incomplete, but fully enjoyed, taste of Czech composers.
Janacek: Taras Bulba
Liszt: Piano Concerto No. 2 in A Major - Jean-Yves Thibaudet
Dvorak: Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 95, "From the New World"
With all the pessimistic talks and anguished discussions about the falling attendance at classical music and opera performances, taking my seat in a cultural venue hosting a sold-out show is always a comforting moment, even if I am painfully aware that it also comes with some unavoidable inconveniences, such as exponentially increased chances that a concert-goer will forget to turn off their electronic device and get a call, another one will take a photo of the soloist, send it from his iPhone and carry on a conversation about it all during the performance, or another one will drop her program during the Largo.
And sure enough, all of the above happened yesterday afternoon at Carnegie Hall, where after a sold-out concert by the Philadelphia Orchestra for Mahler's "Resurrection" symphony a couple of weeks ago, the Stern auditorium could boast of a sold-out concert by the Czech Philharmonic for Dvorak's "New World" symphony. Va-va-voom! So there is hope, even if it starts with big crowd-pleasers. The rest of the program sounded like a lot of fun too, with Janacek's "Taras Bulba" ‒ If we're having the premier Czech orchestra on the stage, we might as well celebrate Czech music ‒ and my personal motivation for being in the hall, Liszt's second piano concerto performed by my fellow Lyonnais piano man extraordinaire Jean-Yves Thibaudet.
The concert started on an openly nationalistic, musically engaging, but dramatically grim note, with Janacek's "Taras Bulba", a 25-minute work inspired Gogol's short story about the Ukrainian Cossack's fight against the Poles, in which each of the three movements features a death (Bulba's younger son, Bulba's older son, Bulba). With the inventiveness of Janacek's score and the dynamic conducting of Jiri Belohlavek strongly emphasizing the burning dilemma between personal feelings and patriotic duty, the story swiftly unfolded with lavish melodies and resounding fanfares in a fiercely colorful number.
The first time I heard Jean-Yves Thibaudet perform Liszt ‒That would be "Tottentanz" several years ago ‒ I immediately realized that those two were a match made in heaven. Although I'd go hear the most stylish pianist of them all play pretty much anything, the prospect of hearing him tackle Liszt always adds an extra, irresistible, incentive. Predictably, yesterday lived up to my sky-high expectations again, even as the typical flamboyance was significantly toned down to make room for subtle introspection and the orchestra was skillfully brought in as a more equal partner. On the other hand, Liszt will be Liszt, and there were still plenty of opportunities for Thibaudet to show off his impressive virtuosic skills and his gorgeous delicate touch all the way to the old-fashioned grand finale.
Since the one-movement piano concerto lasted a mere 20 minutes, Thibaudet generously extended his much appreciated stay among us with a heavenly account of Schubert 's "Kupelwieser-Walzer", arranged by Richard Strauss, which provided us with a wonderfully soothing respite between Liszt's lush Romanticism and Dvorak's American liveliness.
Dvorak's universally popular and widely quoted "New World" symphony is the kind of works that I never go out of my way for because I know that sooner or later our paths will cross, usually after I've been lured in by another item on the program. Then I hear it again and realize what an incredibly cool composition it is again, yesterday's richly earthy performance of it by the Czech Philharmonic being yet another case in point. A heart-felt tribute to America's culture and spirit, deeply influenced by Native-American and African-American music traditions, this classic among classics never fails to captivate the listener with its unpretentious freshness and boundless exuberance. Back for the umpteenth time in the Stern Auditorium where it was premiered 121 years ago, Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 gloriously took over the whole space, proudly rising, leisurely meditating, happily dancing, unequivocally triumphing. This is obviously the stuff the musicians were born to play, and this intensely committed performance would have made Dvorak very happy.
Obviously fired-up by what they had just achieved and the enthusiastic ovation it prompted from our part, conductor and orchestra decided to just carry on and treated us to an energetic overture to The Bartered Bride by Bedrich Smetana and a melancholic "Valse triste" by Oskar Nedbal, which pleasantly rounded up our quick, incomplete, but fully enjoyed, taste of Czech composers.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Met - The Death of Klinghoffer - 11/15/14
Composer: John Adams
Conductor: David Robertson
Producer/Director: Tom Morris
The Captain: Paulo Szot
Marilyn Klinghoffer: Michaela Martens
Leon Klinghoffer: Alan Opie
Mamoud: Aubrey Allicock
Molqi: Sean Panikkar
Rambo: Ryan Speedo Green
They say there is no such thing as bad publicity, and the robust ticket sales of John Adams' The Death of Klinghoffer at the Met following weeks of vituperative accusations of anti-semitism and pro-terrorism would certainly support this theory. But the artists, Met personnel and public who had to put up with all kinds of harassment, from mere annoying to plain vicious, may think that the means did not justify the end, and who could blame them? Moreover, in this particular case, the irony is that there was no controversy to be found to begin with, which the protesters could have easily realized if they had bothered checking out the opera instead of stridently stating groundless claims and making fools of themselves. Oops.
Unlike the vast majority of the protesters, I was actually familiar with Klinghoffer because I had seen - and very much liked - the BBC film version of it several years ago. So last summer, my only motivation to buy a ticket was to attend a live production of it, not thinking for a minute that it was about to become the focus of so much pointless ranting and raving. And then all hell broke loose.
Fortunately Peter Geld held strong when it came to the live production, unfortunately he caved in when it came to the broadcasts, depriving the rest of the world from a chance to get to know a major work and make up their own mind about it like, you know, grown-ups are supposed to do. So it was with a special thought for my frustrated opera-loving friends and family that I walked down Broadway yesterday afternoon to attend the Saturday matinee we should have all shared.
Based on the 1985 hijacking of the Italian cruise ship Achille Lauro by members of the Palestine Liberation Front, during which wheelchair-bound Jewish American Leon Klinghoffer was murdered, his body and wheelchair thrown overboard, The Death of Klinghoffer has been regularly performed in major cities around the world for the past 23 years. Even when it generated controversy, those occurrences can hardly be compared to all the noise we had to endure here, which incidentally does not speak exactly well of New York City as the potential cultural capital of the world.
After a rowdy, headline-making opening night a few weeks ago, things have been back to normal outside the Met, but once inside yesterday, a vague feeling of paranoia was still in the air as apologetic extra personnel asked me to throw away my water bottle "just for this show" as I was passing security. (But not to worry, I quickly realized that I could still buy an overpriced water bottle at one of the Met's bars and hurl it toward the stage if that had been my intention anyway.)
Although the title is about Leon Klinghoffer, the lead part was the nameless captain, who was soberly and efficiently interpreted by baritone Paulo Szot, whose strong and flexible voice gave the character a dignified presence, the one of a man ready to reason the unreasonable and sacrifice himself for the crew and passengers he was responsible for.
Mezzo-soprano Michaela Martens was viscerally touching as Marilyn Klinghoffer, a devoted wife dying of cancer but determined to spend quality time with her husband. Her singing was crystal clear, richly colorful and deeply affecting, making her an instant crowd favorite.
As Leon Klinghoffer, baritone Alan Opie had only two arias, but they were spell-binding ones, and he easily commanded the stage with his particularly expressive voice as he first angrily confronted the hijackers and later ethereally drifted away.
The bad guys, who had generated so much of the heat because they were literally given a voice, grabbed the opportunity and made a riveting use of theirs. Bass-baritone Aubrey Allicock was a complex Mamoud, who had survived the Sabra and Shatila massacre, where he saw his mother and brother murdered, and consequently turned into a cold-hearted, non-compromising terrorist. The hard line he had adopted, however, did not keep him from having mundane tastes, such as fondly remembering the pop music from some local radio stations and musing about birds and freedom.
Tenor Sean Panikkar was an out-of-control Molqi, whose virulent singing made him even more of an unpredictable threat. Bass baritone Ryan Speedo Green was quick-tempered, big-mouthed Rambo, the one who suddenly launched into an anti-Jewish rant bursting with bigoted stereotypes and later came up with the immature, sadistic hand grenade scare.
Although the soloists were all very fine indeed, the real star of the opera had to be the Met chorus, which handled the massive challenge of providing richly textured, organic interludes with unshakable force and stunning subtlety. The opening Chorus of Exiled Palestinians followed by the Chorus of Exiled Jews were dramatically instrumental, musically mesmerizing and set the highly expressive tone of the choral parts right away. However, to my ears at least, their tour de force of the afternoon was the Night Chorus, which exploded with ferocious rage before a West Bank wall covered with screamingly colorful street art as huge green flags were being assertively waved.
But all the outstanding singing talent in the house could not hide the fact the text they were given did not say much or said too much, depending on how you looked at it. In fact, the major flaw of the opera is probably an overly dense libretto that for the most part overflows with fancy words, biblical references, obscure metaphors, and rarely seems to connect with the reality of the situation. This is all the more problematic as the story is neither linear nor always well-balanced, and all this over-ambitious pseudo-poetry fails to clarify or elevate the unfolding drama. Even the most emotionally gripping scene of the opera, when the captain told Marilyn Klinghoffer that her husband had been murdered, eventually got spoiled when another weird metaphor sneaked into her otherwise simple, devastatingly effective text.
On the other hand, the production's use of projected photos and text often helped situate the action and fill some of the most static scenes with valuable insights. Backgrounds representing the thankless nature of the arid land or the sheer impassibility of the Mediterranean sea and sun worked well, as did the partial reconstitution of the ship, on which brilliant minimalist tableaux were created at times. But I could have done without the jumpy choreography, or having a veiled Palestinian mezzo-soprano sing the part of Omar, a male terrorist who was embodied by a jerky dancer. In those cases, less would have definitely been more.
The ultimate unifier of all the parts was the hypnotic composition written by John Adams. Whether it was dealing with complex chorus numbers expressing universal ideas, introspective arias conveying psychological struggle, or the inherent tension of life on a hijacked ship, the music never failed to persuasively draw the attentive audience in and keep them on a permanent edge. The score also benefitted from a beautifully nuanced and masterfully executed performance by the always excellent Met orchestra, who gave it their all under the assured and unwavering baton of David Robertson.
The clapping started even before the lights had completely faded, maybe out of a need to come back to a comforting reality quicker, and only grew exponentially to reach a thunderous ovation when John Adams appeared on the stage of the packed opera house. And rightly so. After a rather humdrum Aida a couple of weeks ago, I was only too happy to have experienced a truly memorable performance of a fundamentally messy, but also profoundly human, musically enthralling, unapologetically thought-provoking, and regrettably more relevant than ever, opera because, at the end of the day, that is what genuine artistic endeavors are all about.
Conductor: David Robertson
Producer/Director: Tom Morris
The Captain: Paulo Szot
Marilyn Klinghoffer: Michaela Martens
Leon Klinghoffer: Alan Opie
Mamoud: Aubrey Allicock
Molqi: Sean Panikkar
Rambo: Ryan Speedo Green
They say there is no such thing as bad publicity, and the robust ticket sales of John Adams' The Death of Klinghoffer at the Met following weeks of vituperative accusations of anti-semitism and pro-terrorism would certainly support this theory. But the artists, Met personnel and public who had to put up with all kinds of harassment, from mere annoying to plain vicious, may think that the means did not justify the end, and who could blame them? Moreover, in this particular case, the irony is that there was no controversy to be found to begin with, which the protesters could have easily realized if they had bothered checking out the opera instead of stridently stating groundless claims and making fools of themselves. Oops.
Unlike the vast majority of the protesters, I was actually familiar with Klinghoffer because I had seen - and very much liked - the BBC film version of it several years ago. So last summer, my only motivation to buy a ticket was to attend a live production of it, not thinking for a minute that it was about to become the focus of so much pointless ranting and raving. And then all hell broke loose.
Fortunately Peter Geld held strong when it came to the live production, unfortunately he caved in when it came to the broadcasts, depriving the rest of the world from a chance to get to know a major work and make up their own mind about it like, you know, grown-ups are supposed to do. So it was with a special thought for my frustrated opera-loving friends and family that I walked down Broadway yesterday afternoon to attend the Saturday matinee we should have all shared.
Based on the 1985 hijacking of the Italian cruise ship Achille Lauro by members of the Palestine Liberation Front, during which wheelchair-bound Jewish American Leon Klinghoffer was murdered, his body and wheelchair thrown overboard, The Death of Klinghoffer has been regularly performed in major cities around the world for the past 23 years. Even when it generated controversy, those occurrences can hardly be compared to all the noise we had to endure here, which incidentally does not speak exactly well of New York City as the potential cultural capital of the world.
After a rowdy, headline-making opening night a few weeks ago, things have been back to normal outside the Met, but once inside yesterday, a vague feeling of paranoia was still in the air as apologetic extra personnel asked me to throw away my water bottle "just for this show" as I was passing security. (But not to worry, I quickly realized that I could still buy an overpriced water bottle at one of the Met's bars and hurl it toward the stage if that had been my intention anyway.)
Although the title is about Leon Klinghoffer, the lead part was the nameless captain, who was soberly and efficiently interpreted by baritone Paulo Szot, whose strong and flexible voice gave the character a dignified presence, the one of a man ready to reason the unreasonable and sacrifice himself for the crew and passengers he was responsible for.
Mezzo-soprano Michaela Martens was viscerally touching as Marilyn Klinghoffer, a devoted wife dying of cancer but determined to spend quality time with her husband. Her singing was crystal clear, richly colorful and deeply affecting, making her an instant crowd favorite.
As Leon Klinghoffer, baritone Alan Opie had only two arias, but they were spell-binding ones, and he easily commanded the stage with his particularly expressive voice as he first angrily confronted the hijackers and later ethereally drifted away.
The bad guys, who had generated so much of the heat because they were literally given a voice, grabbed the opportunity and made a riveting use of theirs. Bass-baritone Aubrey Allicock was a complex Mamoud, who had survived the Sabra and Shatila massacre, where he saw his mother and brother murdered, and consequently turned into a cold-hearted, non-compromising terrorist. The hard line he had adopted, however, did not keep him from having mundane tastes, such as fondly remembering the pop music from some local radio stations and musing about birds and freedom.
Tenor Sean Panikkar was an out-of-control Molqi, whose virulent singing made him even more of an unpredictable threat. Bass baritone Ryan Speedo Green was quick-tempered, big-mouthed Rambo, the one who suddenly launched into an anti-Jewish rant bursting with bigoted stereotypes and later came up with the immature, sadistic hand grenade scare.
Although the soloists were all very fine indeed, the real star of the opera had to be the Met chorus, which handled the massive challenge of providing richly textured, organic interludes with unshakable force and stunning subtlety. The opening Chorus of Exiled Palestinians followed by the Chorus of Exiled Jews were dramatically instrumental, musically mesmerizing and set the highly expressive tone of the choral parts right away. However, to my ears at least, their tour de force of the afternoon was the Night Chorus, which exploded with ferocious rage before a West Bank wall covered with screamingly colorful street art as huge green flags were being assertively waved.
But all the outstanding singing talent in the house could not hide the fact the text they were given did not say much or said too much, depending on how you looked at it. In fact, the major flaw of the opera is probably an overly dense libretto that for the most part overflows with fancy words, biblical references, obscure metaphors, and rarely seems to connect with the reality of the situation. This is all the more problematic as the story is neither linear nor always well-balanced, and all this over-ambitious pseudo-poetry fails to clarify or elevate the unfolding drama. Even the most emotionally gripping scene of the opera, when the captain told Marilyn Klinghoffer that her husband had been murdered, eventually got spoiled when another weird metaphor sneaked into her otherwise simple, devastatingly effective text.
On the other hand, the production's use of projected photos and text often helped situate the action and fill some of the most static scenes with valuable insights. Backgrounds representing the thankless nature of the arid land or the sheer impassibility of the Mediterranean sea and sun worked well, as did the partial reconstitution of the ship, on which brilliant minimalist tableaux were created at times. But I could have done without the jumpy choreography, or having a veiled Palestinian mezzo-soprano sing the part of Omar, a male terrorist who was embodied by a jerky dancer. In those cases, less would have definitely been more.
The ultimate unifier of all the parts was the hypnotic composition written by John Adams. Whether it was dealing with complex chorus numbers expressing universal ideas, introspective arias conveying psychological struggle, or the inherent tension of life on a hijacked ship, the music never failed to persuasively draw the attentive audience in and keep them on a permanent edge. The score also benefitted from a beautifully nuanced and masterfully executed performance by the always excellent Met orchestra, who gave it their all under the assured and unwavering baton of David Robertson.
The clapping started even before the lights had completely faded, maybe out of a need to come back to a comforting reality quicker, and only grew exponentially to reach a thunderous ovation when John Adams appeared on the stage of the packed opera house. And rightly so. After a rather humdrum Aida a couple of weeks ago, I was only too happy to have experienced a truly memorable performance of a fundamentally messy, but also profoundly human, musically enthralling, unapologetically thought-provoking, and regrettably more relevant than ever, opera because, at the end of the day, that is what genuine artistic endeavors are all about.
Friday, November 14, 2014
Quatuor Ebène - Mozart, Mendelssohn & Bartok - 11/12/14
Mozart: String Quartet in E-flat Major, K. 428
Mendelssohn: String Quartet in A Minor, Op. 13, "Ist es wahr?"
Bartok: String Quartet No. 4
It is always nice to have an extra little pick-me-up on Hump Day, just to make the day even more special. This past Wednesday, however, had a particularly big treat associated to it with the annual visit of the hottest French string quartet ever to New York City. Watching the meteoric trajectory of the virtuosic and intrepid Quatuor Ebène, from my first encounter with them at the Library of Congress in 2009 to... now, when they regularly fill up Zankel Hall with an enthusiastic audience, has been constantly thrilling and rewarding, and I was more than ready for my annual fix.
Wednesday's program, which included Mozart, Mendelssohn and Bartok, sounded appealing, yes, well-balanced, obviously, but, all things considered, rather conventional. However, as a dedicated fan of the seriously fun-loving ensemble I knew better, and even before the concert started I was already looking forward to the end of the official program, when delightful surprises never fail to materialize.
Mozart's "Haydn" Quartets, in which the old master's classicism cleverly rubs notes with the young pupil's petulant instincts, are the kind of works I can listen to anytime anywhere. Brilliantly performed by those seasoned and committed musicians, the third Quartet of the series unfolded with playfulness, precision and warmth, opening the classical portion of the evening with grace and vitality.
After marveling at young Mozart's refined flair at 27, we got to experience even younger Mendelssohn's passionate style at 18. Both being industrious students, the former's six-piece set was paying a glowing tribute to Haydn, the latter's "Ist es wahr?" Quartet was divinely inspired by Beethoven. Add to that the sunny luminosity already found in his famous Octet, whose first version he had come up with two years earlier, and you have an immediately infectious, profusely melodic composition that does not hesitate to pull on your heartstrings in the best Romantic tradition. The incandescent, flawlessly unified playing of the ensemble intensely heightened the richly lyrical quality of the work in Zankel's ever-cool interior.
Things got unquestionably rougher after intermission when Bartok and his intriguingly symmetrical String Quartet No. 4 took center stage. Carefully arranged around the slow third movement, the four other movements formed compelling outer shells, what with aggressively popping pizzicatos, energetic dance rhythms, dazzling technical tricks, deeply expressive colors and so much more. The wide range of sonorities kept the audience constantly on the edge and ended the official program of the evening with a masterful tour de force.
Once the classical stuff out of the way, the time had come to paaartyyyyy. And party we sure did when the four musicians came back and announced that we were all going to Brazil because last year they recorded an album of Brazilian music coinciding with the World Cup. Inspired by Ari Barroso's "Aquarela do Brasil", "Brazile Odyssey" started slowly but quickly gained tremendous, all-out exuberant momentum, with a little help from one of their local buddies, French-born jazz percussionist Mino Cinelu.
Moreover, since we were all brought in to sing along after a very short rehearsal, I can now legitimately claim that I made my singing debut at Carnegie Hall with the Quatuor Ebène... and a few hundred random fellow audience members, all the more psyched by violist Mathieu Herzog's no doubt totally objective assessment of our performance as "not bad". The rousing ovation they received made it clear that our totally objective assessment of their performance was "outstanding". À l'année prochaine !
Mendelssohn: String Quartet in A Minor, Op. 13, "Ist es wahr?"
Bartok: String Quartet No. 4
It is always nice to have an extra little pick-me-up on Hump Day, just to make the day even more special. This past Wednesday, however, had a particularly big treat associated to it with the annual visit of the hottest French string quartet ever to New York City. Watching the meteoric trajectory of the virtuosic and intrepid Quatuor Ebène, from my first encounter with them at the Library of Congress in 2009 to... now, when they regularly fill up Zankel Hall with an enthusiastic audience, has been constantly thrilling and rewarding, and I was more than ready for my annual fix.
Wednesday's program, which included Mozart, Mendelssohn and Bartok, sounded appealing, yes, well-balanced, obviously, but, all things considered, rather conventional. However, as a dedicated fan of the seriously fun-loving ensemble I knew better, and even before the concert started I was already looking forward to the end of the official program, when delightful surprises never fail to materialize.
Mozart's "Haydn" Quartets, in which the old master's classicism cleverly rubs notes with the young pupil's petulant instincts, are the kind of works I can listen to anytime anywhere. Brilliantly performed by those seasoned and committed musicians, the third Quartet of the series unfolded with playfulness, precision and warmth, opening the classical portion of the evening with grace and vitality.
After marveling at young Mozart's refined flair at 27, we got to experience even younger Mendelssohn's passionate style at 18. Both being industrious students, the former's six-piece set was paying a glowing tribute to Haydn, the latter's "Ist es wahr?" Quartet was divinely inspired by Beethoven. Add to that the sunny luminosity already found in his famous Octet, whose first version he had come up with two years earlier, and you have an immediately infectious, profusely melodic composition that does not hesitate to pull on your heartstrings in the best Romantic tradition. The incandescent, flawlessly unified playing of the ensemble intensely heightened the richly lyrical quality of the work in Zankel's ever-cool interior.
Things got unquestionably rougher after intermission when Bartok and his intriguingly symmetrical String Quartet No. 4 took center stage. Carefully arranged around the slow third movement, the four other movements formed compelling outer shells, what with aggressively popping pizzicatos, energetic dance rhythms, dazzling technical tricks, deeply expressive colors and so much more. The wide range of sonorities kept the audience constantly on the edge and ended the official program of the evening with a masterful tour de force.
Once the classical stuff out of the way, the time had come to paaartyyyyy. And party we sure did when the four musicians came back and announced that we were all going to Brazil because last year they recorded an album of Brazilian music coinciding with the World Cup. Inspired by Ari Barroso's "Aquarela do Brasil", "Brazile Odyssey" started slowly but quickly gained tremendous, all-out exuberant momentum, with a little help from one of their local buddies, French-born jazz percussionist Mino Cinelu.
Moreover, since we were all brought in to sing along after a very short rehearsal, I can now legitimately claim that I made my singing debut at Carnegie Hall with the Quatuor Ebène... and a few hundred random fellow audience members, all the more psyched by violist Mathieu Herzog's no doubt totally objective assessment of our performance as "not bad". The rousing ovation they received made it clear that our totally objective assessment of their performance was "outstanding". À l'année prochaine !
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Cantori New York - Nazziola, Palestrina, Holst & Bank - 11/08/14
Artistic Director & Conductor: Mark Shapiro
Tom Nazziola: Mediterranean Trilogy
I. Love (Text by Khalil Gibran)
II. Here I love you (Text by Pablo Neruda)
III. It gives me wonder (Text by William Shakespeare)
Giovanni Perluigi da Palestrina: Canticum Canticorum Salomonis (Song of Songs)
I. Osculetur me osculo oris sui
II. Trahe me post te
III. Nigra sum sed Formosa
Conductor: Jason Wirth
Gustav Holst: Five Partsongs, Op. 12
I. Dream Tryst
II. Ye little birds
III. Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee
IV. Now is the month of Maying
V. Come to me
Jacques Bank: The jazzman, his wife and the Persian poet
Thomas Bergeron: Trumpet
Paul Murphy: Trumpet
Maryann Plunkett: Narrator
Kris Saebo: Double bass
Jared Soldiviero: Percussion
Jason Wirth: Piano
Now that the 2014-2015 cultural season has gotten into full swing, it was only a matter of time before Cantori New York and their adventurous artistic director and conductor Mark Shapiro presented their season-opening concerts, and that's just what they finally did this past weekend, on the Upper East Side and in the West Village, with a predictably unpredictable program made of works from a wide range of genres, time periods and parts of the world, because they can.
So on Saturday evening, a sizable crowd, including so many familiar faces that it almost felt like another day at the office, braved one of the first bitterly cold spells of the season and eagerly gathered together in the beautiful Park Avenue Christian Church. We were all there to attend the world premiere of attending Dutch composer Jacques Bank's The jazzman, his wife and the Persian poet, a piece about American jazz giant Charlie "Bird" Parker and his common-law wife Chan that involves a chorus, a few musicians, a narrator, and some verses from Omar Khayyam's The Rubaiyat. Although this intriguing centerpiece sounded just about right for the thrill-seekers among us, it was prudently preceded by more traditional but still exciting fare from contemporary New York, Italian Renaissance and early 20th century England to keep the more conservative minds happy as well.
The concert opened with the US premiere of Brooklynite Tom Nazziola's Mediterranean Trilogy, which of course immediately brought me back with profound nostalgia to the work's European premiere over a year ago in Marseille, where it was performed by Cantori as part of the musical festivities celebrating the French city's status of 2013 European Capital of Culture. Based on texts by Khalil Gibran, Pablo Neruda and William Shakespeare, the three spontaneously engaging movements depict various moods of love, from contemplative to wishful to joyful. Since they have just recorded it, I expected Cantori's singing to be pitch perfect, and it pretty much was. Another proof, if need be, that practice, practice, practice does pay off.
Love – or at least lust – was still in the air as we moved on to 16th century Italy for a sample of Palestrina's sprawling Song of Songs. As the choir was working its way through three of the Renaissance master's unabashedly sensual motets, the audience fully relished the timeless beauty of those little gems, whose highly refined polyphony ardently filled up the hushed church. On a more prosaic note, witnessing Cantori perform a choral work that is neither new nor neglected was also a Kodak moment to remember.
Jumping forward a few centuries and heading up north, we found ourselves in England for Five Partsongs by Gustav Holst. Mostly well-known for his popular orchestral suite The Planets, he also happened to have built a remarkably eclectic œuvre throughout his career. Written when he was not yet 30, these five love songs were charmingly melodic, pleasantly light-hearted and all-around lovely, like a care-free stroll in the ever-green English countryside.
They say that behind every great man stands a great woman, and it certainly sounds like Jacques Bank would not disagree with that. By bringing to musical life the long-lasting, endlessly complex and deeply loving relationship between Charlie Parker and Chan through her experience of it in The jazzman, his wife and the Persian poet, he has created a brand new masterwork that eventually reaches universality via its very particulars, whether they be the obstacles faced by the interracial couple in 1950's America, the heart-breaking death of their child, some 11th century Persian poetry or a resolutely modern instrumentation.
Since the composition is not about Charlie Parker's music, there was no saxophone to be found on the stage, but the piano and double bass effortlessly conveyed a discreet jazzy mood. On the other hand, the two trumpets quickly imposed themselves bright and clear, and the wood blocks were so assertive that my ears are still ringing just thinking about them. Although projecting the narration over the music was challenging at times, nonplussed veteran performer Maryann Plunkett whole-heartedly put her crystal clear articulation and strong power of expression to the service of Chan, giving the young woman a vibrant emotional presence. Cantori's singers, taking on the role of a traditional Greek chorus, superbly enhanced the mystical quality of Omar Khayyam’s poetry while providing subtle insights in Bird’s multifaceted-character. In the end, one trumpet gently uttered the jazzman's last, sinuous breath, and the rest was silence.
Tom Nazziola: Mediterranean Trilogy
I. Love (Text by Khalil Gibran)
II. Here I love you (Text by Pablo Neruda)
III. It gives me wonder (Text by William Shakespeare)
Giovanni Perluigi da Palestrina: Canticum Canticorum Salomonis (Song of Songs)
I. Osculetur me osculo oris sui
II. Trahe me post te
III. Nigra sum sed Formosa
Conductor: Jason Wirth
Gustav Holst: Five Partsongs, Op. 12
I. Dream Tryst
II. Ye little birds
III. Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee
IV. Now is the month of Maying
V. Come to me
Jacques Bank: The jazzman, his wife and the Persian poet
Thomas Bergeron: Trumpet
Paul Murphy: Trumpet
Maryann Plunkett: Narrator
Kris Saebo: Double bass
Jared Soldiviero: Percussion
Jason Wirth: Piano
Now that the 2014-2015 cultural season has gotten into full swing, it was only a matter of time before Cantori New York and their adventurous artistic director and conductor Mark Shapiro presented their season-opening concerts, and that's just what they finally did this past weekend, on the Upper East Side and in the West Village, with a predictably unpredictable program made of works from a wide range of genres, time periods and parts of the world, because they can.
So on Saturday evening, a sizable crowd, including so many familiar faces that it almost felt like another day at the office, braved one of the first bitterly cold spells of the season and eagerly gathered together in the beautiful Park Avenue Christian Church. We were all there to attend the world premiere of attending Dutch composer Jacques Bank's The jazzman, his wife and the Persian poet, a piece about American jazz giant Charlie "Bird" Parker and his common-law wife Chan that involves a chorus, a few musicians, a narrator, and some verses from Omar Khayyam's The Rubaiyat. Although this intriguing centerpiece sounded just about right for the thrill-seekers among us, it was prudently preceded by more traditional but still exciting fare from contemporary New York, Italian Renaissance and early 20th century England to keep the more conservative minds happy as well.
The concert opened with the US premiere of Brooklynite Tom Nazziola's Mediterranean Trilogy, which of course immediately brought me back with profound nostalgia to the work's European premiere over a year ago in Marseille, where it was performed by Cantori as part of the musical festivities celebrating the French city's status of 2013 European Capital of Culture. Based on texts by Khalil Gibran, Pablo Neruda and William Shakespeare, the three spontaneously engaging movements depict various moods of love, from contemplative to wishful to joyful. Since they have just recorded it, I expected Cantori's singing to be pitch perfect, and it pretty much was. Another proof, if need be, that practice, practice, practice does pay off.
Love – or at least lust – was still in the air as we moved on to 16th century Italy for a sample of Palestrina's sprawling Song of Songs. As the choir was working its way through three of the Renaissance master's unabashedly sensual motets, the audience fully relished the timeless beauty of those little gems, whose highly refined polyphony ardently filled up the hushed church. On a more prosaic note, witnessing Cantori perform a choral work that is neither new nor neglected was also a Kodak moment to remember.
Jumping forward a few centuries and heading up north, we found ourselves in England for Five Partsongs by Gustav Holst. Mostly well-known for his popular orchestral suite The Planets, he also happened to have built a remarkably eclectic œuvre throughout his career. Written when he was not yet 30, these five love songs were charmingly melodic, pleasantly light-hearted and all-around lovely, like a care-free stroll in the ever-green English countryside.
They say that behind every great man stands a great woman, and it certainly sounds like Jacques Bank would not disagree with that. By bringing to musical life the long-lasting, endlessly complex and deeply loving relationship between Charlie Parker and Chan through her experience of it in The jazzman, his wife and the Persian poet, he has created a brand new masterwork that eventually reaches universality via its very particulars, whether they be the obstacles faced by the interracial couple in 1950's America, the heart-breaking death of their child, some 11th century Persian poetry or a resolutely modern instrumentation.
Since the composition is not about Charlie Parker's music, there was no saxophone to be found on the stage, but the piano and double bass effortlessly conveyed a discreet jazzy mood. On the other hand, the two trumpets quickly imposed themselves bright and clear, and the wood blocks were so assertive that my ears are still ringing just thinking about them. Although projecting the narration over the music was challenging at times, nonplussed veteran performer Maryann Plunkett whole-heartedly put her crystal clear articulation and strong power of expression to the service of Chan, giving the young woman a vibrant emotional presence. Cantori's singers, taking on the role of a traditional Greek chorus, superbly enhanced the mystical quality of Omar Khayyam’s poetry while providing subtle insights in Bird’s multifaceted-character. In the end, one trumpet gently uttered the jazzman's last, sinuous breath, and the rest was silence.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
The Philadelphia Orchestra - Mahler - 10/31/14
Conductor: Yannick Nézet-Séguin
Mahler: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, "Resurrection"
Sarah Connolly: Mezzo-soprano
Angela Meade: Soprano
Westminster Symphonic Choir
When you get a call from Carnegie Hall warning you that there will be no late seating, and then when you see countless people desperately looking for tickets outside the venue, you know for sure that you have a big night ahead of you. And it was, with The Philadelphia Orchestra scheduled to perform Gustav Mahler's magnificent "Resurrection" symphony under the baton of its ever-ebullient music director Yannick Nézet-Séguin, the still remarkably young man who for the past few years has been enjoying a meteoric international career collaborating with many prestigious orchestras and opera companies.
So after a long, late and uneven night at The Met with Aida on Thursday night, my mom and I were more than ready to wrap up the week with an extensive philosophical journey on what happened to be the creepiest night of the year. This would not be an evening for the faint of hearts, but then again, when the going gets tough, the tough get going.
There is so much going on during the approximate 90 minutes of Mahler's Symphony No. 2 that I always find it nearly impossible for me to take it all in. So I can't even imagine being the poor maestro who has to stay in constant control of the huge orchestra, the large chorus, two female soloists, and the organ. But Yannick Nézet-Séguin looked unfazed by the challenge ahead of him and approached it with his trademark spontaneous enthusiasm and dedicated musicianship. Attempting to tame the mighty "Resurrection" in Carnegie Hall’s Stern Auditorium has to be a milestone in any conductor’s career, and he was manifestly ready to seize the moment.
The performance opened with its famously intense, dark evocations of death before spending the rest of the score wondering what was coming next. Whether fiercely stirring the already potent turbulences or delicately modulating the more contemplative moments, Nézet-Séguin confidently guided the fired up orchestra, which was by all accounts totally devoted to the mission at hand. The path chosen to accomplish it was clear, the ever-precarious balance among the various parts generally well-maintained, and a palpable sense of awe at the heroic undertaking never left the capacity-filled concert hall. The playing was vividly colorful, urgent yet nuanced. In short, just plain thrilling.
As if the endless peaks and valleys of the tumultuous instrumental composition were not enough, the two female soloists eventually rose up and contributed some truly inspired singing. English mezzo-soprano Sarah Connolly was discreet and meticulous, American soprano Angela Meade was luminous and passionate. The uplifting power of the human voice only expanded when the outstanding Westminster Symphonic Choir finally made its exquisitely hushed entrance before concluding the performance with a gloriously explosive grand finale, which immediately prompted a well-deserved thunderous ovation. The mission had been fully accomplished.
Mahler: Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, "Resurrection"
Sarah Connolly: Mezzo-soprano
Angela Meade: Soprano
Westminster Symphonic Choir
When you get a call from Carnegie Hall warning you that there will be no late seating, and then when you see countless people desperately looking for tickets outside the venue, you know for sure that you have a big night ahead of you. And it was, with The Philadelphia Orchestra scheduled to perform Gustav Mahler's magnificent "Resurrection" symphony under the baton of its ever-ebullient music director Yannick Nézet-Séguin, the still remarkably young man who for the past few years has been enjoying a meteoric international career collaborating with many prestigious orchestras and opera companies.
So after a long, late and uneven night at The Met with Aida on Thursday night, my mom and I were more than ready to wrap up the week with an extensive philosophical journey on what happened to be the creepiest night of the year. This would not be an evening for the faint of hearts, but then again, when the going gets tough, the tough get going.
There is so much going on during the approximate 90 minutes of Mahler's Symphony No. 2 that I always find it nearly impossible for me to take it all in. So I can't even imagine being the poor maestro who has to stay in constant control of the huge orchestra, the large chorus, two female soloists, and the organ. But Yannick Nézet-Séguin looked unfazed by the challenge ahead of him and approached it with his trademark spontaneous enthusiasm and dedicated musicianship. Attempting to tame the mighty "Resurrection" in Carnegie Hall’s Stern Auditorium has to be a milestone in any conductor’s career, and he was manifestly ready to seize the moment.
The performance opened with its famously intense, dark evocations of death before spending the rest of the score wondering what was coming next. Whether fiercely stirring the already potent turbulences or delicately modulating the more contemplative moments, Nézet-Séguin confidently guided the fired up orchestra, which was by all accounts totally devoted to the mission at hand. The path chosen to accomplish it was clear, the ever-precarious balance among the various parts generally well-maintained, and a palpable sense of awe at the heroic undertaking never left the capacity-filled concert hall. The playing was vividly colorful, urgent yet nuanced. In short, just plain thrilling.
As if the endless peaks and valleys of the tumultuous instrumental composition were not enough, the two female soloists eventually rose up and contributed some truly inspired singing. English mezzo-soprano Sarah Connolly was discreet and meticulous, American soprano Angela Meade was luminous and passionate. The uplifting power of the human voice only expanded when the outstanding Westminster Symphonic Choir finally made its exquisitely hushed entrance before concluding the performance with a gloriously explosive grand finale, which immediately prompted a well-deserved thunderous ovation. The mission had been fully accomplished.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Met - Aida - 10/30/14
Composer: Giuseppe Verdi
Conductor: Marco Armiliato
Production: Sonja Frisell
Aida: Liudmyla Monastyrska
Radamès: Marcello Giordani
Amneris: Olga Borodina
Amonasro: Zeljko Lucic
I don't consider myself a procrastinator, and yet, for the past several years I had been postponing getting a ticket to the Met's much lauded production of Aida for one reason or another because I regularly figured out that there would always be "next season". Until now that is, as this season is supposed to be this particular Aida's last season, and also happens to coincide with my mom's annual visit. Thrilled at the prospect of being able to watch a Met opera in the house rather than on the HD broadcast screen across the pond, she quickly pointed out that she would treat if I got the tickets. Needless to say I quickly did.
Regardless of its obvious broad appeal, Aida has never been a favorite of mine, maybe at least partly because of its obvious broad appeal. On the other hand, nobody had to twist my harm to have me tag along and experience its exotic locale, gripping moral and emotional dilemmas, and richly melodic score one more time. And at the end of the day, who cared if it would end at a late hour on a school night? At least it should be one to remember.
Aida is allegedly Verdi's most popular opera, a good many knowledgeable people even consider it the most popular opera in the world, and when you look at it objectively, it is easy to see why: the drama is simple, the setting is grand, the music is beautiful, there is the added bonus of a couple of dance numbers and, in this production at least, the promise of the unusual presence of horses on the stage. So even if the overture was partly spoiled by late-comers being let in, the intermissions were interminable and the A/C was mercilessly blowing on us the entire time (So much for sunny warm Egypt!), we were happy to be there.
A lot of good things have been written and said about Ukrainian soprano Liudmyla Monastyrska, an Aida veteran by now, and there was a lot to like indeed. Her strong voice effortlessly soared above all and her range was impressively wide. She definitely sounded in control of everything coming out of her mouth, and that was definitely something to marvel at. All this singing power, however, was frustratingly undermined by her apparent lack of acting abilities. Apart from some tentative emotional involvement in the scene with her father in Act 3, this Aida did not seem overly bothered by all the drama unfolding around her.
On the other hand, Russian mezzo-soprano Olga Borodina was unquestionably in charge of her part and relishing every minute of her bad-ass Amneris. Not only did her singing convincingly rose above the fray, but her impersonation of the fundamentally spoiled, increasingly desperate and ultimately pitiful Egyptian princess was spot-on.
Italian tenor Marcello Giordani, a Radamès veteran himself, got the job done, never mind that his "Celeste Aida" did not dazzle in the least. Granted, the famous aria is at the very beginning of the opera and we were all still getting situated, but still. While most of his remaining performance was respectable, there was nothing even remotely memorable about it.
I found Serbian bass Zeljko Lucic much more expressive than he had been in Macbeth last month. On Thursday night, he carried out the role of the captured King Amonasro with poise and dignity. The chorus was its usual excellent self and beautifully contributed to our musical enjoyment of this performance.
My main reason for attending this production was the production itself, and I must admit that in the regard, my sky-high expectations were mostly met. Yet, a lot of the costumes needed some serious revamping and some hats should simply be tossed out. Some of the characters actually looked like they were rehearsing for a second-rate Halloween parade instead of being part of a landmark Met production.
However, when it came to the sets, they were a real feast for the eyes, finally putting the Met's oversized stage to good use with stylish opulence. Most impressive was Scene 2 of Act 2, when the back wall of Amneris' apartment slowly came down to reveal a line of soldiers on top of it and a whole public square filled with people, including royalty, behind it. Soon the victory parade brought in even more people and the famous horses, one of which visibly not enjoying its fifteen minutes of fame. The scene ended up in a truly spectacular tableau, which prompted someone behind me to exclaim to his party that this was "what opera should always be like".
But opera is also about the music. In that regard, Verdi wanted to make sure that Aida fit the bill and brilliantly succeeded. Expertly combining complex choral numbers to express heart-felt patriotism and show-stopping arias to convey personal conflicts, the Italian master came up with the perfect cocktail that has been enchanting the crowds for decades. Met veteran Marco Armiliato conducted the superb orchestra in another confident performance and seemed to be on a mission to insure that the stunning score would not get overshadowed by the grandeur of the production. It did not.
Conductor: Marco Armiliato
Production: Sonja Frisell
Aida: Liudmyla Monastyrska
Radamès: Marcello Giordani
Amneris: Olga Borodina
Amonasro: Zeljko Lucic
I don't consider myself a procrastinator, and yet, for the past several years I had been postponing getting a ticket to the Met's much lauded production of Aida for one reason or another because I regularly figured out that there would always be "next season". Until now that is, as this season is supposed to be this particular Aida's last season, and also happens to coincide with my mom's annual visit. Thrilled at the prospect of being able to watch a Met opera in the house rather than on the HD broadcast screen across the pond, she quickly pointed out that she would treat if I got the tickets. Needless to say I quickly did.
Regardless of its obvious broad appeal, Aida has never been a favorite of mine, maybe at least partly because of its obvious broad appeal. On the other hand, nobody had to twist my harm to have me tag along and experience its exotic locale, gripping moral and emotional dilemmas, and richly melodic score one more time. And at the end of the day, who cared if it would end at a late hour on a school night? At least it should be one to remember.
Aida is allegedly Verdi's most popular opera, a good many knowledgeable people even consider it the most popular opera in the world, and when you look at it objectively, it is easy to see why: the drama is simple, the setting is grand, the music is beautiful, there is the added bonus of a couple of dance numbers and, in this production at least, the promise of the unusual presence of horses on the stage. So even if the overture was partly spoiled by late-comers being let in, the intermissions were interminable and the A/C was mercilessly blowing on us the entire time (So much for sunny warm Egypt!), we were happy to be there.
A lot of good things have been written and said about Ukrainian soprano Liudmyla Monastyrska, an Aida veteran by now, and there was a lot to like indeed. Her strong voice effortlessly soared above all and her range was impressively wide. She definitely sounded in control of everything coming out of her mouth, and that was definitely something to marvel at. All this singing power, however, was frustratingly undermined by her apparent lack of acting abilities. Apart from some tentative emotional involvement in the scene with her father in Act 3, this Aida did not seem overly bothered by all the drama unfolding around her.
On the other hand, Russian mezzo-soprano Olga Borodina was unquestionably in charge of her part and relishing every minute of her bad-ass Amneris. Not only did her singing convincingly rose above the fray, but her impersonation of the fundamentally spoiled, increasingly desperate and ultimately pitiful Egyptian princess was spot-on.
Italian tenor Marcello Giordani, a Radamès veteran himself, got the job done, never mind that his "Celeste Aida" did not dazzle in the least. Granted, the famous aria is at the very beginning of the opera and we were all still getting situated, but still. While most of his remaining performance was respectable, there was nothing even remotely memorable about it.
I found Serbian bass Zeljko Lucic much more expressive than he had been in Macbeth last month. On Thursday night, he carried out the role of the captured King Amonasro with poise and dignity. The chorus was its usual excellent self and beautifully contributed to our musical enjoyment of this performance.
My main reason for attending this production was the production itself, and I must admit that in the regard, my sky-high expectations were mostly met. Yet, a lot of the costumes needed some serious revamping and some hats should simply be tossed out. Some of the characters actually looked like they were rehearsing for a second-rate Halloween parade instead of being part of a landmark Met production.
However, when it came to the sets, they were a real feast for the eyes, finally putting the Met's oversized stage to good use with stylish opulence. Most impressive was Scene 2 of Act 2, when the back wall of Amneris' apartment slowly came down to reveal a line of soldiers on top of it and a whole public square filled with people, including royalty, behind it. Soon the victory parade brought in even more people and the famous horses, one of which visibly not enjoying its fifteen minutes of fame. The scene ended up in a truly spectacular tableau, which prompted someone behind me to exclaim to his party that this was "what opera should always be like".
But opera is also about the music. In that regard, Verdi wanted to make sure that Aida fit the bill and brilliantly succeeded. Expertly combining complex choral numbers to express heart-felt patriotism and show-stopping arias to convey personal conflicts, the Italian master came up with the perfect cocktail that has been enchanting the crowds for decades. Met veteran Marco Armiliato conducted the superb orchestra in another confident performance and seemed to be on a mission to insure that the stunning score would not get overshadowed by the grandeur of the production. It did not.
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