Machaut: Doulz amis, oy mon compleint
Binchois: Triste plaisir et douloureuse joie
Ockeghem: Kyrie, from Missa prolationum
Du Fay: Franc cuer gentil, sur toutes gracieuse
Josquin: Kyrie, from Missa “Pane lingua”
Byrd: A Voluntarie, from My Ladye Nevells Booke of Virginal
Gesualdo: O dolce mio tesoro
Monteverdi: Zefiro torna e di soave accenti, SV 251
Scarlatti: Sonata in B-flat Major, K.545
Bach: Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue in D Minor, BWV 903
Mozart: Andante, from Sonata No. 5 in G Major, K.283
Beethoven: Allegro molto e con brio, from Sonata No. 5 in C Minor, Op. 10
Schumann: In der Nacht, from Fantasiestücke, Op. 12, No. 5
Chopin: Prelude in C Major, Op. 28, No. 1
Chopin: Prelude in A Minor, Op. 28, No. 2
Liszt: Liebestod, from Tristan und Isolde
Brahms: Intermezzo in B Minor, from Klavierstücke, Op. 119, No. 1
Schoenberg: Mäßige Viertel, from Three Piano Pieces, Op. 11, No. 1
Debussy: Reflets dans l’eau, from Images, Série 1
Stravinsky: Piano-Rag-Music
Stockhausen: Klavierstücke I
Glass: Étude No. 2
Ligeti: Autumn in Warsaw, from Études, Book I
Binchois: Triste plaisir et douloureuse joie
Being a technically flawless and emotionally expressive – not to mention delightfully entertaining – performer is already a blessing not bestowed upon just any musician, and being on top of it a brilliant writer, talented composer, ambitious programmer and engaging presenter is even rarer, but New York pianist Jeremy Denk has proved many times over that he could handle it all without any noticeable fuss.
And the ever-inquisitive music man did it again on Wednesday night in a Alice Tully Hall packed with an obviously very dedicated and genuinely excited audience, when he closed Lincoln Center's White Light Festival with an 80-minute, break-free series of 23 works spanning six centuries entitled "Medieval to Modern", the appealing experience being heightened by insightful program notes, a good-humored introduction, and occasionally faulty but generally helpful surtitles above the stage.
The concert opened with probably the least-known works, secular and religious compositions that were some of the greatest hits of the Middle Age and Renaissance and that Denk played with much conviction and sensitivity in his own arrangements for the modern piano.
After attractive madrigals by Gesualdo and Monteverdi, we happily entered blazingly virtuosic territory with Scarlatti's perky Sonata in B-flat Major, K.545, before fully indulging into Bach's Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue in D Minor, BWV 903. As it was, the longest piece of the program also turned out to be one of the most memorable peaks of the evening not only because it symbolized the beginning of a new era, but also because its impeccable rendition effortlessly conveyed the outstanding structure and the emotional power of the composition.
The transition to Mozart was seamless, and the subtly lyrical Andante from his Sonata No. 5 in G Major sounded remarkably fresh and inherently elegant, in true Mozartian fashion. It was followed by a surprisingly subdued but still totally fitting submission for Beethoven in the beautifully lilting Allegro molto e con brio from his Sonata No. 5 in C Minor.
Schumann and Chopin kept the Romantic mood alive before Liszt and his soaring transcription of "Liebestod" from Wagner's Tristan und Isolde imposed itself as one of the undisputed highlights of the concert with the right combination of intensity and finesse. It was followed by a nice, but in truth unnecessary, intermezzo by Brahms.
A momentous break came next with Schoenberg's "Mäßige Viertel" from Three Piano Pieces, in which tonality shockingly disappeared and endless possibilities suddenly emerged, making a logical progression of the modern portion of the program impossible, but a scrumptious, wide-ranging bouquet of random goodies most welcome.
So we got to fully indulge in Debussy's delicately colored "Reflets dans l’eau" before Stravinsky's wildly rhythmical "Piano-Rag-Music" unexpectedly and unceremoniously jolted us out of our rêverie. In Denk's expertly adapting hands, Stockhausen's "Klavierstücke I" probably sounded as boldly radical on Wednesday night as it did back in 1952. It was cleverly followed by the perfect antidote to controlled chaos that is Glass' quintessentially minimalist Étude No. 2.
One last modern serving was Ligeti's festive "Autumn in Warsaw" before we moved right back to the troubadour lament of Binchois' "Triste plaisir et douloureuse joie". We had pretty much come full circle is this by default incomplete tour of Western music history, therefore our music-packed evening ended with an extended ovation and, regretfully but understandably, no encore.
Sunday, November 20, 2016
Monday, November 14, 2016
International Brazilian Opera Company - The Seventh Seal (Act I) - 11/12/16
Composer: João MacDowell
Conductor: Néviton Barros
Olga Bakaki: Death
Nelson Ebo: The Knight Antonius Block
Melanie Ashkar: The Squire Jons
Heejae Kim: The Actor Jof
Alexandra Filipe: The Actress Mia
Shana Grossman: The Witch Tyan
Daniel Klein: The Monk Raval
After a couple of trips to the Metropolitan Opera to attend grand-scale performances in its huge house, I found the perfect way to downsize with the small but feisty International Brazilian Opera Company, which had put together a chamber music concert presenting Act I of The Seventh Seal, an opera adaptation of Ingmar Bergman's classic – and incidentally one of my favorite films ever – by João MacDowell, one of Brazil's most widely eclectic music composers, who had already dabbed into Bergman’s œuvre with an opera adaption of Cries and Whispers.
The intriguing proposition would take place in the pleasantly intimate concert hall of the Scandinavian House, which of course meant that I had to venture into Midtown on a Saturday night after an especially busy day. That was definitely no small sacrifice, but curiosity and optimism prevailed.
The Seventh Seal is unquestionably one of world cinema's most admired films whose most iconic scenes, such as The Knight playing chess with Death on the beach and the final Dance of Death, have been parodied many times over, including by dedicated connoisseurs as disparate as Woody Allen and The Monty Python. Taking place in a medieval Sweden devastated by the plague, featuring strongly symbolic characters, daring theatricality, dark humor, as well as universal themes such as existentialism, obscurantism, religion and death, the original film offers many possibilities to composers intrepid enough to tackle it, and on Saturday night a sizable crowd was on hand to see how the work was coming along.
Memorable characters require outstanding singers, and we sure had them in the international cast that had been gathered, starting with Greek soprano Olga Bakali, whose poised and powerful voice made her a stark, unforgiving and impenetrable Death. She quickly found a worthy adversary in the weary Knight Antonius Block, who was immortalized on the screen by a young Max von Sydow, and on Saturday night was persuasively impersonated by sternly intense Angolan tenor Nelson Ebo.
Mezzo-soprano Melanie Ashkar was a delightfully expressive Squire Jons, the ultimate witty bon vivant, as she skillfully bantered and sparred with The Knight. Korean tenor Heejae Kim and Brazilian soprano Alexandra Filipe formed a totally endearing young couple of artists as The Actor Jof and The Actress Mia. American soprano Shana Grossman was devilishly good as The Witch Tyan, and American bass-baritone Daniel Klein exuded appropriate grim authority as The Monk Raval.
The singers were uniformly talented, each in their own way, but also had the capacity to come together and organically constitute a coherent ensemble. A few of them even got to indulge in special feats such as Death and The Witch belting out commanding flights of lyricism, or Jof and Mia turning their love duet into a bona fide rock song, in which João MacDowell’s certified pop credentials shone brightly. The rhythmical screams of pain uttered by the leader of the procession were as distressing as necessary, and the scene concluded in a rousing choral finale.
The compelling score, which was scaled down to chamber music level for the concert, was immediately engaging. Its multiple colors cleverly conveyed the austere expressionism the film is famous for, the melodies having been directly inspired by the Swedish dialogs from the original script. The ominous dark lines from the cello and the eerily bluesy contributions from the trumpet effectively created a subtly ghostly atmosphere. The percussion provided a wide range of usual and unusual sounds, such as whistling winds and spooky rattling, while the perky banjo added authenticity and light-heartedness to the bohemian episode.
The adventure lasted only over an hour and left us wanting more. Act II should be ready next year, and the full opera in 2018. If Act I is any indication, the result is going to be worth the wait.
Conductor: Néviton Barros
Olga Bakaki: Death
Nelson Ebo: The Knight Antonius Block
Melanie Ashkar: The Squire Jons
Heejae Kim: The Actor Jof
Alexandra Filipe: The Actress Mia
Shana Grossman: The Witch Tyan
Daniel Klein: The Monk Raval
After a couple of trips to the Metropolitan Opera to attend grand-scale performances in its huge house, I found the perfect way to downsize with the small but feisty International Brazilian Opera Company, which had put together a chamber music concert presenting Act I of The Seventh Seal, an opera adaptation of Ingmar Bergman's classic – and incidentally one of my favorite films ever – by João MacDowell, one of Brazil's most widely eclectic music composers, who had already dabbed into Bergman’s œuvre with an opera adaption of Cries and Whispers.
The intriguing proposition would take place in the pleasantly intimate concert hall of the Scandinavian House, which of course meant that I had to venture into Midtown on a Saturday night after an especially busy day. That was definitely no small sacrifice, but curiosity and optimism prevailed.
The Seventh Seal is unquestionably one of world cinema's most admired films whose most iconic scenes, such as The Knight playing chess with Death on the beach and the final Dance of Death, have been parodied many times over, including by dedicated connoisseurs as disparate as Woody Allen and The Monty Python. Taking place in a medieval Sweden devastated by the plague, featuring strongly symbolic characters, daring theatricality, dark humor, as well as universal themes such as existentialism, obscurantism, religion and death, the original film offers many possibilities to composers intrepid enough to tackle it, and on Saturday night a sizable crowd was on hand to see how the work was coming along.
Memorable characters require outstanding singers, and we sure had them in the international cast that had been gathered, starting with Greek soprano Olga Bakali, whose poised and powerful voice made her a stark, unforgiving and impenetrable Death. She quickly found a worthy adversary in the weary Knight Antonius Block, who was immortalized on the screen by a young Max von Sydow, and on Saturday night was persuasively impersonated by sternly intense Angolan tenor Nelson Ebo.
Mezzo-soprano Melanie Ashkar was a delightfully expressive Squire Jons, the ultimate witty bon vivant, as she skillfully bantered and sparred with The Knight. Korean tenor Heejae Kim and Brazilian soprano Alexandra Filipe formed a totally endearing young couple of artists as The Actor Jof and The Actress Mia. American soprano Shana Grossman was devilishly good as The Witch Tyan, and American bass-baritone Daniel Klein exuded appropriate grim authority as The Monk Raval.
The singers were uniformly talented, each in their own way, but also had the capacity to come together and organically constitute a coherent ensemble. A few of them even got to indulge in special feats such as Death and The Witch belting out commanding flights of lyricism, or Jof and Mia turning their love duet into a bona fide rock song, in which João MacDowell’s certified pop credentials shone brightly. The rhythmical screams of pain uttered by the leader of the procession were as distressing as necessary, and the scene concluded in a rousing choral finale.
The compelling score, which was scaled down to chamber music level for the concert, was immediately engaging. Its multiple colors cleverly conveyed the austere expressionism the film is famous for, the melodies having been directly inspired by the Swedish dialogs from the original script. The ominous dark lines from the cello and the eerily bluesy contributions from the trumpet effectively created a subtly ghostly atmosphere. The percussion provided a wide range of usual and unusual sounds, such as whistling winds and spooky rattling, while the perky banjo added authenticity and light-heartedness to the bohemian episode.
The adventure lasted only over an hour and left us wanting more. Act II should be ready next year, and the full opera in 2018. If Act I is any indication, the result is going to be worth the wait.
Sunday, November 13, 2016
Berlin Philharmonic - Schoenberg, Webern, Berg & Brahms - 11/10/16
Conductor: Sir Simon Rattle
Schoenberg: Five Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 16
Webern: Six Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 6b
Berg: Three Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 6
Brahms: Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Op. 73
In the nick of time! For way too long many good and not so good reasons had kept me from attending performances conducted by the one and only Sir Simon Rattle. This season, however, promised to be different as I was traveling to his current musical fief of Berlin in September and I had a ticket for a performance of Tristan und Isolde he would be conducting in New York in October.
Alas! Turned out that he was not conducting his Berlin Philharmonic when I was in the German capital because he was getting the Met orchestra ready for Tristan und Isolde in the Big Apple, and I was not able to attend Tristan und Isolde as originally planned because I would have been an undesirable coughing patron (I must admit, though, that I probably still benefited from his masterly touch when basking in the majestic performance of the orchestra he had trained to perfection).
On the other hand, I was not about to give up while the man was still in town. Therefore, as the end of his extended and busy New York residency was looming, I cleared my schedule and scored one of the last coveted tickets to his last performance ever conducting the Berlin Philharmonic as their artistic director at Carnegie Hall. The brainy and appealing program included classics from the Second Viennese School and Brahms’ Symphony No. 2, and the venue could not feel more like home, so it definitely looked like the curse was about to be lifted in the most memorable way possible.
In an obvious case of occasionally hard to wallow vegetables before a luscious dessert, the first part of the program was dedicated to masterpieces of the Second Viennese School. Before the concert started, Simon Rattle informed the sold-out and particularly eclectic audience that the works from Schoenberg, Webern and Berg would be played as a single piece – possibly Mahler’s 11th symphony – and asked us to refrain from applauding until the end, at which point, he quickly added with deadpan aplomb, it would be “just fine”.
So we dutifully kept quiet throughout all 14 movements, seamlessly moving from Arnold Schoenberg’s resolutely bold Five Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 16, to Anton Webern’s eerily transparent Six Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 6b, to Alban Berg’s tension-filled Three Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 6, the differences between the three composers establishing themselves organically as the journey through early 20th century Vienna ineluctably progressed.
The first shock wave from the ground-breaking movement came with Schoenberg, whose exploration of the subconscious led to compositions that essentially left out tonality and melodies while still managing to vividly express ideas and emotions. Years ago my introduction to his œuvre was Pierrot Lunaire, which I found stunningly off-putting, followed a few months later by Verklärte Nacht, which I found stunningly beautiful. On Thursday night, the wide range of unpredictable sounds, subtle colors and elusive concepts of his Five Pieces for Orchestra was meticulous articulated and dexterously rendered for a totally engaging opener.
Anton Webern, one of Schoenberg’s most gifted students, was next with six spell-binding miniatures whose main characteristic was to pack a mightily effective punch in their incredibly tiny size. Fearlessly minimalist, delicately poetic and endlessly surprising, Six Pieces for Orchestra had the audience’s intrigued attention continually perked up as they kept coming up with fleeting images such as a sweet lullaby, a dark haunted house and a grim funeral march. Performed with cool finesse and infallible precision, the shortest and quietest episode of the triptych ended up being its most eloquent.
Alban Berg, the other fiercely gifted student of Schoenberg’s, brought us to the finish line with his intellectually stimulating, but more readily accessible Three Pieces for Orchestra. The playing got markedly more muscular, but never lost its unwavering attention to detail, and assuredly transported us through the impressionistic "Prelude", the agitated "Round Dance" and the resounding "March". Mahler would have certainly approved. As for me, the orchestra's exceptionally brilliant performance was a revelation. While I have admired and respected the movement and the works associated to it, on Thursday night I found myself genuinely enjoying the entire 50-minute experience.
After intermission, Brahms’ majestic Symphony No. 2 sounded even more richly lyrical than usual, its rigorously crafted structure receiving the royal treatment from an orchestra that clearly could do no wrong. Simon Rattle had the musicians at his fingertips and drew a grandly sweeping, expertly polished and superbly nuanced performance from them. Although it is a repertoire staple that they all have probably played multiple times, they stayed away from cruise control and effortlessly succeeded in keeping the music joyful, fresh and engaging. And they have our bottomless gratitude for bringing two hours of direly needed escapism, beauty, solace and hope into a seriously distressing week.
Schoenberg: Five Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 16
Webern: Six Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 6b
Berg: Three Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 6
Brahms: Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Op. 73
In the nick of time! For way too long many good and not so good reasons had kept me from attending performances conducted by the one and only Sir Simon Rattle. This season, however, promised to be different as I was traveling to his current musical fief of Berlin in September and I had a ticket for a performance of Tristan und Isolde he would be conducting in New York in October.
Alas! Turned out that he was not conducting his Berlin Philharmonic when I was in the German capital because he was getting the Met orchestra ready for Tristan und Isolde in the Big Apple, and I was not able to attend Tristan und Isolde as originally planned because I would have been an undesirable coughing patron (I must admit, though, that I probably still benefited from his masterly touch when basking in the majestic performance of the orchestra he had trained to perfection).
On the other hand, I was not about to give up while the man was still in town. Therefore, as the end of his extended and busy New York residency was looming, I cleared my schedule and scored one of the last coveted tickets to his last performance ever conducting the Berlin Philharmonic as their artistic director at Carnegie Hall. The brainy and appealing program included classics from the Second Viennese School and Brahms’ Symphony No. 2, and the venue could not feel more like home, so it definitely looked like the curse was about to be lifted in the most memorable way possible.
In an obvious case of occasionally hard to wallow vegetables before a luscious dessert, the first part of the program was dedicated to masterpieces of the Second Viennese School. Before the concert started, Simon Rattle informed the sold-out and particularly eclectic audience that the works from Schoenberg, Webern and Berg would be played as a single piece – possibly Mahler’s 11th symphony – and asked us to refrain from applauding until the end, at which point, he quickly added with deadpan aplomb, it would be “just fine”.
So we dutifully kept quiet throughout all 14 movements, seamlessly moving from Arnold Schoenberg’s resolutely bold Five Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 16, to Anton Webern’s eerily transparent Six Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 6b, to Alban Berg’s tension-filled Three Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 6, the differences between the three composers establishing themselves organically as the journey through early 20th century Vienna ineluctably progressed.
The first shock wave from the ground-breaking movement came with Schoenberg, whose exploration of the subconscious led to compositions that essentially left out tonality and melodies while still managing to vividly express ideas and emotions. Years ago my introduction to his œuvre was Pierrot Lunaire, which I found stunningly off-putting, followed a few months later by Verklärte Nacht, which I found stunningly beautiful. On Thursday night, the wide range of unpredictable sounds, subtle colors and elusive concepts of his Five Pieces for Orchestra was meticulous articulated and dexterously rendered for a totally engaging opener.
Anton Webern, one of Schoenberg’s most gifted students, was next with six spell-binding miniatures whose main characteristic was to pack a mightily effective punch in their incredibly tiny size. Fearlessly minimalist, delicately poetic and endlessly surprising, Six Pieces for Orchestra had the audience’s intrigued attention continually perked up as they kept coming up with fleeting images such as a sweet lullaby, a dark haunted house and a grim funeral march. Performed with cool finesse and infallible precision, the shortest and quietest episode of the triptych ended up being its most eloquent.
Alban Berg, the other fiercely gifted student of Schoenberg’s, brought us to the finish line with his intellectually stimulating, but more readily accessible Three Pieces for Orchestra. The playing got markedly more muscular, but never lost its unwavering attention to detail, and assuredly transported us through the impressionistic "Prelude", the agitated "Round Dance" and the resounding "March". Mahler would have certainly approved. As for me, the orchestra's exceptionally brilliant performance was a revelation. While I have admired and respected the movement and the works associated to it, on Thursday night I found myself genuinely enjoying the entire 50-minute experience.
After intermission, Brahms’ majestic Symphony No. 2 sounded even more richly lyrical than usual, its rigorously crafted structure receiving the royal treatment from an orchestra that clearly could do no wrong. Simon Rattle had the musicians at his fingertips and drew a grandly sweeping, expertly polished and superbly nuanced performance from them. Although it is a repertoire staple that they all have probably played multiple times, they stayed away from cruise control and effortlessly succeeded in keeping the music joyful, fresh and engaging. And they have our bottomless gratitude for bringing two hours of direly needed escapism, beauty, solace and hope into a seriously distressing week.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Cantori New York & Musicatreize - Moultaka, Petrossian, Ohana & Primosch - 11/06/16
Musicatreize
Conductor: Roland Hayrabedian
Zad Moultaka: Ikhtifa
Michel Petrossian: Horae quidem cedunt
Maurice Ohana: Swan Song
Musicatreize & Cantori New York
Conductor: Mark Shapiro
James Primosch: Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus
Although I had the best intentions in the world, a schedule packed with can't-miss performances made me regretfully miss Cantori New York's turn in Daphnis et Chloé with the American Ballet Theater (Although I probably would not have been able to hear them much anyway considering the notoriously subpar acoustics of the Koch Theater), and then their first official concert of the season with Musicatreize, the French professional vocal ensemble they had partnered with during their whirlwind and intense concert series in Marseille back in 2013, when the city was one of the European capitals of culture, because I had to put myself through Guillaume Tell again, and make it the end this time. Therefore, I had to contend myself with the deuxième on Sunday evening as opposed to the première on Saturday evening.
That's when after three long years the American choir finally got to not only host to their fellow French choir, but also to join them for Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus by James Primosch, after Musicatreize had performed an intriguing program on their own in the cavernous Saint Ignatius of Antioch Episcopal Church, which is not only beautiful but, as luck would have it, also happens to be located a few blocks from my apartment. It could not get much better than that.
The concert opened with a nostalgic trip down memory lane all the way to the South of France with Zad Moultaka’s Ikhtifa, which Musicatreize had already performed during their concert with Cantori in Marseille. Complex, atmospheric, whimsical, and making clever use of the Arabic language, once again Ikhtifa (Disappearance) offered a unique and hypnotic musical experience as seemingly random sounds uttered by the singers were playing off one another, coming together to constitute a fascinating whole during the first half and shooting off in myriad directions, in particular once the singers had moved to various locations around the audience, during the second half. Some pieces just never get old.
Next, Michel Petrossian’s Horae quidem cedunt, which was originally the accompanying score to the 1972 film by Armenian cineaste and poet Artavazd Péléchian The Seasons, is a stark homage to landmarks in Armenian history expressed through texts by Virgil, Philippe Mahaud, Cicero, The Old Testament and the composer himself that are sung in French, Russian, Latin and Ancient Hebrew. On Sunday, the endless variations of the voices, on their own or together, in which East met West, somberly evoked the hard life of the Armenian people migrating according to nature’s and history’s demands and toiling the ever-present land throughout the unalterable cycle of the seasons. Poetic, earthy and sung to perfection, the musical journey was gratefully taken and enjoyed.
Maurice Ohana’s Swan Song is an atypical requiem that keeps on fighting death in the course of four movements before triumphantly winning. The opening "Drone" was a dense, colorful and energetic incantation made of countless different phonemes, from which a single voice occasionally sprang out. In sharp contrast, "Eleis", a Negro spiritual sung in Creole English, was overflowing with rich harmonies and compelling solo turns. Inspired by the French poet Ronsard's "À son âme", "Épitaphe" was lighter fare, but still pondering mortality, before "Mambo" wrapped things up by chasing death off in a strongly rhythmical Afro-Cuban dialect. Wildly eclectic yet totally coherent, Swan Song strongly emphasized the tremendous vocal range, impeccable clarity and laser-sharp precision of Musicatreize’s singers.
After intermission, Musicatreize and Cantori New York joined their mighty forces for the New York premiere of James Primosch’s Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus, for which Roland Hayrabedian passed the baton to Mark Shapiro. After the resolutely bold, at times coming from exceptionally far out left field, vocal experiments we had just heard, the openly beautiful and profoundly stirring mass spontaneously engaged the audience as it was confidently unfolding its adroit combination of traditional liturgy literature and Mass-inspired text by English poet Denise Levertov.
Throughout the five movements, the four soloists from Musicatreize superbly sang the excerpts from the Latin Mass while the combined choirs, stalwartly open-minded but definitely no fool, soulfully reflected on them in magnificent unison. With truly uplifting music and brilliantly written poems, this contemporary mass grandly stood out for its winning spirit of collaboration, a healthy dose of skepticism and a universal sense of humanity, all of which are unfortunately needed more than ever now that The Apocalypse – not to mention national embarrassment – are officially upon us.
Conductor: Roland Hayrabedian
Zad Moultaka: Ikhtifa
Michel Petrossian: Horae quidem cedunt
Maurice Ohana: Swan Song
Musicatreize & Cantori New York
Conductor: Mark Shapiro
James Primosch: Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus
Although I had the best intentions in the world, a schedule packed with can't-miss performances made me regretfully miss Cantori New York's turn in Daphnis et Chloé with the American Ballet Theater (Although I probably would not have been able to hear them much anyway considering the notoriously subpar acoustics of the Koch Theater), and then their first official concert of the season with Musicatreize, the French professional vocal ensemble they had partnered with during their whirlwind and intense concert series in Marseille back in 2013, when the city was one of the European capitals of culture, because I had to put myself through Guillaume Tell again, and make it the end this time. Therefore, I had to contend myself with the deuxième on Sunday evening as opposed to the première on Saturday evening.
That's when after three long years the American choir finally got to not only host to their fellow French choir, but also to join them for Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus by James Primosch, after Musicatreize had performed an intriguing program on their own in the cavernous Saint Ignatius of Antioch Episcopal Church, which is not only beautiful but, as luck would have it, also happens to be located a few blocks from my apartment. It could not get much better than that.
The concert opened with a nostalgic trip down memory lane all the way to the South of France with Zad Moultaka’s Ikhtifa, which Musicatreize had already performed during their concert with Cantori in Marseille. Complex, atmospheric, whimsical, and making clever use of the Arabic language, once again Ikhtifa (Disappearance) offered a unique and hypnotic musical experience as seemingly random sounds uttered by the singers were playing off one another, coming together to constitute a fascinating whole during the first half and shooting off in myriad directions, in particular once the singers had moved to various locations around the audience, during the second half. Some pieces just never get old.
Next, Michel Petrossian’s Horae quidem cedunt, which was originally the accompanying score to the 1972 film by Armenian cineaste and poet Artavazd Péléchian The Seasons, is a stark homage to landmarks in Armenian history expressed through texts by Virgil, Philippe Mahaud, Cicero, The Old Testament and the composer himself that are sung in French, Russian, Latin and Ancient Hebrew. On Sunday, the endless variations of the voices, on their own or together, in which East met West, somberly evoked the hard life of the Armenian people migrating according to nature’s and history’s demands and toiling the ever-present land throughout the unalterable cycle of the seasons. Poetic, earthy and sung to perfection, the musical journey was gratefully taken and enjoyed.
Maurice Ohana’s Swan Song is an atypical requiem that keeps on fighting death in the course of four movements before triumphantly winning. The opening "Drone" was a dense, colorful and energetic incantation made of countless different phonemes, from which a single voice occasionally sprang out. In sharp contrast, "Eleis", a Negro spiritual sung in Creole English, was overflowing with rich harmonies and compelling solo turns. Inspired by the French poet Ronsard's "À son âme", "Épitaphe" was lighter fare, but still pondering mortality, before "Mambo" wrapped things up by chasing death off in a strongly rhythmical Afro-Cuban dialect. Wildly eclectic yet totally coherent, Swan Song strongly emphasized the tremendous vocal range, impeccable clarity and laser-sharp precision of Musicatreize’s singers.
After intermission, Musicatreize and Cantori New York joined their mighty forces for the New York premiere of James Primosch’s Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus, for which Roland Hayrabedian passed the baton to Mark Shapiro. After the resolutely bold, at times coming from exceptionally far out left field, vocal experiments we had just heard, the openly beautiful and profoundly stirring mass spontaneously engaged the audience as it was confidently unfolding its adroit combination of traditional liturgy literature and Mass-inspired text by English poet Denise Levertov.
Throughout the five movements, the four soloists from Musicatreize superbly sang the excerpts from the Latin Mass while the combined choirs, stalwartly open-minded but definitely no fool, soulfully reflected on them in magnificent unison. With truly uplifting music and brilliantly written poems, this contemporary mass grandly stood out for its winning spirit of collaboration, a healthy dose of skepticism and a universal sense of humanity, all of which are unfortunately needed more than ever now that The Apocalypse – not to mention national embarrassment – are officially upon us.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Met - Guillaume Tell - 11/05/16
Composer: Gioachino Rossini
Conductor: Fabio Luisi
Director: Pierre Audi
Guillaume Tell: Gerald Finley
Arnold: Bryan Hymel
Mathilde: Marina Rebeka
Jemmy: Janai Brugger
Gesler: John Telyra
Melcthal: Kwangchul Youn
The Swiss have won! One week and seven hours after the Metropolitan Opera was evacuated during the second intermission of Guillaume Tell because somebody thought it was a good idea to scatter a suspicious powder, which was in fact cremated ashes, in the orchestra pit, I was back in the opera house last night and got to make it to the long-awaited – and happy – ending. Unlike a fellow companion in frustration who just came back for the fourth act, I had decided to treat myself to the whole thing again because, why not?
This second viewing, which did include the fourth act, did not change my original assessment of glorious music and uneven production, but allowed me to happily dwell into some of the most memorable arias, such as Gerald Finley's quietly heart-breaking advice to his son "Sois immobile". Even better, the short final act turned out to be nothing less than the grandly sweeping and divinely inspired denouement that the audience deserved after a four-hour performance that, let's face it, occasionally dragged.
But there was no chance that our minds would wander after the second intermission. The music and voices kept on gorgeously soaring in what was essentially a one-man show for Bryan Hymel, who impeccably nailed "Asile héréditaire" with plenty of emotional power and high-flying notes, with a brilliant guest-starring appearance by the chorus, who got the last word of the evening when magnificently belting out their roaring hymn to "Liberty" while bathed in a bright sunny glow. And then, at last, there was closure.
Conductor: Fabio Luisi
Director: Pierre Audi
Guillaume Tell: Gerald Finley
Arnold: Bryan Hymel
Mathilde: Marina Rebeka
Jemmy: Janai Brugger
Gesler: John Telyra
Melcthal: Kwangchul Youn
The Swiss have won! One week and seven hours after the Metropolitan Opera was evacuated during the second intermission of Guillaume Tell because somebody thought it was a good idea to scatter a suspicious powder, which was in fact cremated ashes, in the orchestra pit, I was back in the opera house last night and got to make it to the long-awaited – and happy – ending. Unlike a fellow companion in frustration who just came back for the fourth act, I had decided to treat myself to the whole thing again because, why not?
This second viewing, which did include the fourth act, did not change my original assessment of glorious music and uneven production, but allowed me to happily dwell into some of the most memorable arias, such as Gerald Finley's quietly heart-breaking advice to his son "Sois immobile". Even better, the short final act turned out to be nothing less than the grandly sweeping and divinely inspired denouement that the audience deserved after a four-hour performance that, let's face it, occasionally dragged.
But there was no chance that our minds would wander after the second intermission. The music and voices kept on gorgeously soaring in what was essentially a one-man show for Bryan Hymel, who impeccably nailed "Asile héréditaire" with plenty of emotional power and high-flying notes, with a brilliant guest-starring appearance by the chorus, who got the last word of the evening when magnificently belting out their roaring hymn to "Liberty" while bathed in a bright sunny glow. And then, at last, there was closure.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
New York Philharmonic - Bartok, Bruch & Dvorak - 11/01/16
Conductor: Pablo Heras-Casado
Bartok: Dance Suite, BB86a
Bruch: violin Concerto No. in G Minor, Op. 26 - Frank Huang
Dvorak: Symphony No. 7 in D Minor, Op. 70
When I went to the "Insight in the Atrium: An evening with Concertmaster Frank Huang" organized by the New York Philharmonic a couple of weeks ago, it was more of a spur-of-the-moment decision than a long-planned outing. But I ended up having a really wonderful time listening to the downright charming young musician talk about his already brilliant career and share his thoughts about music in general and the Bruch violin concerto, which he was going to perform the following week, in particular.
Even more importantly, hearing a couple of recorded excerpts of the Bruch violin concerto and Huang's personal take on them made me realize what an appealing work it is and how much I had missed hearing it. So I did what any other commonsensical person would have done and I bought a ticket for one of his concerts, whose program also included works from East European natives and sometimes New Yorkers Bela Bartok and Anton Dvorak.
The name of Bela Bartok is always a welcome sight on any program, and the "Dance Suite" that opened the concert was predictably brilliant and fun. Dynamic conductor Pablo Heras-Casado did wonder leading the orchestra in a delightfully upbeat performance of the six short movements, and we all felt all the better for it.
Then came the moment I had come for, and I was pleased – although not surprised – to see and hear for myself that Frank Huang had no problem going from the concertmaster's chair to the soloist's spotlight, which he had successfully occupied in the past, for the occasion. His approach to the Bruch concerto was collaborative, direct and loving, letting his violin happily sing the richly lyrical melodies while still instilling enough depth into his playing to make the performance multi-faceted and exciting. His virtuosity is not of the flashy kind, but it is quietly and efficiently riveting, and the huge ovation he got from the audience and the orchestra made one thing clear: Everybody loves Frank!
Probably having had their full of dazzling music for the evening, quite a few people did not come back after the intermission, and it was their loss because Pablo Heras-Casado and the orchestra had an infectiously grand time with Dvorak's Symphony No. 7. The ubiquitous Czech master is not one of those composers whose name I avidly search on orchestra season programs, but then again, when I happen to hear one of his works live, I suddenly realize what I was missing.
That said, I am the first to admit that with its somber mood, engaging melodies and stark rigor, his seventh symphony is not only a heart-felt tribute to Brahms, and also a powerful statement by a strong individual voice that has learned many important lessons from his distinguished master and is now boldly and successfully moving on on his own. The orchestra played it with much enthusiasm and savoir-faire, and we all thoroughly enjoy it. So glad I stayed.
Bartok: Dance Suite, BB86a
Bruch: violin Concerto No. in G Minor, Op. 26 - Frank Huang
Dvorak: Symphony No. 7 in D Minor, Op. 70
When I went to the "Insight in the Atrium: An evening with Concertmaster Frank Huang" organized by the New York Philharmonic a couple of weeks ago, it was more of a spur-of-the-moment decision than a long-planned outing. But I ended up having a really wonderful time listening to the downright charming young musician talk about his already brilliant career and share his thoughts about music in general and the Bruch violin concerto, which he was going to perform the following week, in particular.
Even more importantly, hearing a couple of recorded excerpts of the Bruch violin concerto and Huang's personal take on them made me realize what an appealing work it is and how much I had missed hearing it. So I did what any other commonsensical person would have done and I bought a ticket for one of his concerts, whose program also included works from East European natives and sometimes New Yorkers Bela Bartok and Anton Dvorak.
The name of Bela Bartok is always a welcome sight on any program, and the "Dance Suite" that opened the concert was predictably brilliant and fun. Dynamic conductor Pablo Heras-Casado did wonder leading the orchestra in a delightfully upbeat performance of the six short movements, and we all felt all the better for it.
Then came the moment I had come for, and I was pleased – although not surprised – to see and hear for myself that Frank Huang had no problem going from the concertmaster's chair to the soloist's spotlight, which he had successfully occupied in the past, for the occasion. His approach to the Bruch concerto was collaborative, direct and loving, letting his violin happily sing the richly lyrical melodies while still instilling enough depth into his playing to make the performance multi-faceted and exciting. His virtuosity is not of the flashy kind, but it is quietly and efficiently riveting, and the huge ovation he got from the audience and the orchestra made one thing clear: Everybody loves Frank!
Probably having had their full of dazzling music for the evening, quite a few people did not come back after the intermission, and it was their loss because Pablo Heras-Casado and the orchestra had an infectiously grand time with Dvorak's Symphony No. 7. The ubiquitous Czech master is not one of those composers whose name I avidly search on orchestra season programs, but then again, when I happen to hear one of his works live, I suddenly realize what I was missing.
That said, I am the first to admit that with its somber mood, engaging melodies and stark rigor, his seventh symphony is not only a heart-felt tribute to Brahms, and also a powerful statement by a strong individual voice that has learned many important lessons from his distinguished master and is now boldly and successfully moving on on his own. The orchestra played it with much enthusiasm and savoir-faire, and we all thoroughly enjoy it. So glad I stayed.
Friday, November 4, 2016
White Light Festival - London Symphony Orchestra - Verdi - 10/30/16
Verdi: Messa da Requiem
Conductor: Gianandrea Noseda
London Symphony Chorus
Danielle Barcellona: Mezzo-soprano
Giorgio Berrugi: Tenor
Erika Grimaldi: Soprano
Vitali Kowaljow: Bass
After Giaochino Rossini last Saturday afternoon, I eagerly moved to Giuseppe Verdi on Sunday afternoon as the London Symphony Orchestra was in town to perform the latter’s magnificent Requiem. Dedicated to Italian poet Allessandro Manzoni, but also including an updated version of "Libera Me", which the composer had written for a Requiem in honor of Rossini that was never completed, and my favorite "Dies Irae" ever, Verdi’s Requiem was a totally appropriate and most welcome addition to the Lincoln Center’s annual White Light Festival.
Last Sunday was as unseasonably hot and muggy as could be for late October, so I actually got to double my pleasure by enjoying a cold Mister Softee ice-cream on the Lincoln Center’s Hearst Plaza alone and Verdi’s red-hot Requiem inside the David Geffen Hall with my friend Christine, the enjoyment only being slightly compromised by the cranked-up AC that was mercilessly blowing on us in the back of the orchestra, but we tried not to let such a minor detail unduly bother us and focused on the music instead.
When it comes to an irresistible mix of spirituality and theatricality, nothing that I know of has ever beaten the glorious fireball that is Verdi’s Requiem. And with the prestigious London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus – Not to mention Verdi aficionado Gianandrea Noseda on the podium – Judgment Day Verdi-style turned out as uncompromisingly intense as one could have hoped for, and then some.
While Verdi was not a religious man, he still managed to cleverly extract the most dramatic portions of the inevitably yawn-inducing Roman Catholic funeral mass and matched them to a truly grand score, in which he made sure to incorporate some blazing parts for the chorus and carefully calibrated parts for the soloists. The end result never fails to immediately catch the listener’s attention by exploding with ferocious flamboyance while still letting more subtle human emotions beautifully blossom.
So on Sunday afternoon, the audience was transported in one swell swoop into a musical version of the after-life that was impressively broad in scope and profusely high in color. Although Verdi’s Requiem is well-known for its fierce spirit, which is displayed at its best in the electrifying "Dies Irae", it also contains quite a few elegiac moments, such as "The Lux Aeterna" movement, which were delicately expressed as well.
The four soloists, in particular, kept busy alone and together with complex parts, and all carried out their assignments with commitment and poise. Special kudos should be directed at tenor Giorgio Berrugi, who was a last-minute replacement, but did not let the short notice get in the way of delivering a confident performance.
Beside drawing excellent performances from all the instrumentalists and singers involved – and there were a lot of them –maestro Noseda also has to be commended for keeping a consistently excellent balance among all those various fired-up components of the superb whole, ensuring that we would all enjoy as full an experience as can be, and that we did. Even the raging downpour we had to contend with as we were exiting the concert hall did not succeed in dampening our seriously elevated spirits.
Conductor: Gianandrea Noseda
London Symphony Chorus
Danielle Barcellona: Mezzo-soprano
Giorgio Berrugi: Tenor
Erika Grimaldi: Soprano
Vitali Kowaljow: Bass
After Giaochino Rossini last Saturday afternoon, I eagerly moved to Giuseppe Verdi on Sunday afternoon as the London Symphony Orchestra was in town to perform the latter’s magnificent Requiem. Dedicated to Italian poet Allessandro Manzoni, but also including an updated version of "Libera Me", which the composer had written for a Requiem in honor of Rossini that was never completed, and my favorite "Dies Irae" ever, Verdi’s Requiem was a totally appropriate and most welcome addition to the Lincoln Center’s annual White Light Festival.
Last Sunday was as unseasonably hot and muggy as could be for late October, so I actually got to double my pleasure by enjoying a cold Mister Softee ice-cream on the Lincoln Center’s Hearst Plaza alone and Verdi’s red-hot Requiem inside the David Geffen Hall with my friend Christine, the enjoyment only being slightly compromised by the cranked-up AC that was mercilessly blowing on us in the back of the orchestra, but we tried not to let such a minor detail unduly bother us and focused on the music instead.
When it comes to an irresistible mix of spirituality and theatricality, nothing that I know of has ever beaten the glorious fireball that is Verdi’s Requiem. And with the prestigious London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus – Not to mention Verdi aficionado Gianandrea Noseda on the podium – Judgment Day Verdi-style turned out as uncompromisingly intense as one could have hoped for, and then some.
While Verdi was not a religious man, he still managed to cleverly extract the most dramatic portions of the inevitably yawn-inducing Roman Catholic funeral mass and matched them to a truly grand score, in which he made sure to incorporate some blazing parts for the chorus and carefully calibrated parts for the soloists. The end result never fails to immediately catch the listener’s attention by exploding with ferocious flamboyance while still letting more subtle human emotions beautifully blossom.
So on Sunday afternoon, the audience was transported in one swell swoop into a musical version of the after-life that was impressively broad in scope and profusely high in color. Although Verdi’s Requiem is well-known for its fierce spirit, which is displayed at its best in the electrifying "Dies Irae", it also contains quite a few elegiac moments, such as "The Lux Aeterna" movement, which were delicately expressed as well.
The four soloists, in particular, kept busy alone and together with complex parts, and all carried out their assignments with commitment and poise. Special kudos should be directed at tenor Giorgio Berrugi, who was a last-minute replacement, but did not let the short notice get in the way of delivering a confident performance.
Beside drawing excellent performances from all the instrumentalists and singers involved – and there were a lot of them –maestro Noseda also has to be commended for keeping a consistently excellent balance among all those various fired-up components of the superb whole, ensuring that we would all enjoy as full an experience as can be, and that we did. Even the raging downpour we had to contend with as we were exiting the concert hall did not succeed in dampening our seriously elevated spirits.
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