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Domingo Hindoyan Makes Debut Performance With New York Philharmonic at Lincoln Center
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Friday, 24 April 2026 14:10
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Photo by Chris Lee
At Lincoln Center’s excellent David Geffen Hall, on the night of Saturday, April 18th, I had the privilege to attend a wonderful concert presented by the New York Philharmonic, under the admirable direction of Domingo Hindoyan, in his debut performances with this ensemble.
The event started splendidly with a sterling realization of the New York premiere of Allison Loggins-Hull’s compelling Can You See? from 2023. The composer has provided this comment on the work:
Can You See? was originally a small chamber ensemble piece commissioned by the New Jersey Symphony. For that commission, the ask was to create an arrangement of The Star-Spangled Banner with a mournful or somber approach that honors lives lost, while also pointing to what the role and responsibility of the living is.
For this larger iteration, arranged for full symphony orchestra, the material is given a curious, yet hopeful treatment. Voices from the original version are orchestrated to achieve a designed delay effect, creating a dreamy soundscape while posing questions relating to the meaning of The Star-Spangled Banner and the complicated history of the United States.
Melodic material from The Star-Spangled Banner is used throughout the work, often stretched out and surrounded by tension and revolving colors. The strings create a soundworld that is cloudy, uncertain, and bleary, questioning if the core meaning of the anthem is in focus. Rhythmic elements evoke a forward-moving motion, while textures and harmonic language nod to the scope and diversity of American music and people.
The glamorous Loggins-Hull was present to receive the audience’s acclaim.
A skilled soloist, Karen Gomyo, then enter the stage to laudably play Jean Sibelius’s extraordinary Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in D minor, Op. 47, which underwent a final revision in 1905. The eminent critic, Donald Francis Tovey, in an interesting program note on the piece, said this:
In the easier and looser concerto forms invented by Mendelssohn and Schumann I have not met with a more original, a more masterly, and a more exhilarating work than the Sibelius Violin Concerto. As with all Sibelius's more important works, its outlines are huge and simple; and if a timely glance at an atlas had not reminded me that Finland is mostly flat and water-logged with lakes, I should doubtless have said that “his forms are hewn out of the rocks of his native and Nordic mountains.” The composer to whose style the word “lapidary” (lapidarisch) was first applied by the orthodoxy of the 'nineties is Bruckner; and if the best work of Sibelius suggests anything else in music, it suggests a Bruckner gifted with an easy mastery and the spirit of a Polar explorer.
The complex, initial Allegro moderato begins rather lugubriously but builds to a more passionate, Romantic statement but then becomes more turbulent and dramatic, especially in its imposing, central cadenza; as the movement develops, the symphonic scoring familiar from many of the composer’s other orchestral works becomes dominant—after an energetic episode, it ends forcefully. The ensuing Adagio di molto is more lyrical in inspiration and this movement too acquires an increasing emotional intensity, attaining a powerful climax before concluding quietly. The finale, marked Allegro, ma non tanto, is livelier and more dance-like—this movement is the most ebullient of the three and it closes affirmatively. Enthusiastic applause elicited a welcome encore from the violinist: Astor Piazzolla's Tango Etude No. 3.
The second half of the evening proved even stronger with a superb account of Antonín Dvořák’s magnificent Symphony No. 7 in D minor, Op. 70, which was completed in 1885. Tovey intriguingly wrote this about the composition:
I have no hesitation in setting Dvořák's Symphony, along with the C-major Symphony of Schubert and the four symphonies of Brahms, as among the greatest and purest examples in this art-form since Beethoven. There should be no difficulty at this time of day in recognizing its greatness. It has none of the weaknesses of form which so often spoil Dvořák's best work, except for a certain stiffness of movement in the finale, a stiffness which is not beyond concealing by means of such freedom of tempo as the composer would certainly approve. There were three obstacles to the appreciation of this symphony when it was published in 1885. First, it is powerfully tragic. Secondly, the orthodox critics and the average musician were, as always with new works, very anxious to prove that they were right and the composer was wrong, whenever the composer produced a long sentence which could not be easily phrased at sight. … The third obstacle to the understanding of this symphony is intellectually trivial, but practically the most serious of all. The general effect of its climaxes is somewhat shrill. … His scores are almost as full of difficult problems of balance as Beethoven's. … These great works of the middle of Dvořák's career demand and repay the study one expects to give to the most difficult classical masterpieces; but the composer has acquired the reputation of being masterly only in a few popular works of a somewhat lower order. It is time that this injustice should be rectified.
The Allegro maestoso, first movement opens suspensefully and solemnly but a sunnier strain emerges and the music subsequently projects a more confident posture although it ultimately finishes seriously, if softly. The Poco adagio that follows is more song-like and purely melodious but with moments of contrast and it eventually achieves a more noble and patently optimistic expression; the movement ends gently and serenely. The next, Vivace movement—it functions as a scherzo—is joyful and enchanting, even exuberant and it concludes rapidly and dynamically, but the middle, Trio section—marked Poco meno mosso—has an almost pastoral quality. The Allegro finale has a more tempestuous character—although there are more subdued, even tentative, passages—and it has a stunning close.
The artists were justly rewarded with a standing ovation.
Juilliard Chamber Orchestra at Lincoln Center
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Thursday, 23 April 2026 13:58
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Photo is by Rachel Papo, courtesy of Juilliard
At Lincoln Center’s superb Alice Tully Hall, on the night of Thursday, February 26th, I had the privilege to attend an excellent concert presented by the Juilliard Chamber Orchestra.
The event started auspiciously with an accomplished account of Hugo Wolf’s wonderful Italian Serenade, from 1892, which is an orchestral arrangement from an original version for string quartet from 1887, and is the composer’s most famous instrumental work. (A striking moment in it occurs when a solo cello recitative registers a more solemn mood contrasting with the general lightness of the piece.)
An impressive soloist, Solomon Ge, then emerged to rewardingly perform Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s marvelous Piano Concerto No. 25 in C Major, K. 503, from 1786. The initial, Allegro maestoso movement has a stately opening that precedes stirring music with a symphonic quality; the entry of the piano brings a different, more reflective element, but the soloist too becomes energetic before the ensemble reverts to a less extroverted episode. After this, the music becomes sustainedly jubilant except for the introspective cadenza, before the movement closes triumphantly. The ensuing Andanteis elegant and radiantly beautiful with an enchanting lyricism; it ends softly. The Allegretto finale is more dance-like, although the solo piano part has a more exploratory character on the whole; this movement too has a majestic cast at times as well as some urgency, but it concludes joyously.
The second half of the evening was also quite strong, beginning with an effective rendition of George Walker’s fine Lyric for Strings, from 1990. In an interview in the New York Times from 1982, the composer interestingly said:
There's no way I can conceal my identity as a Black composer. I have a very strong feeling for the Negro spiritual and have also drawn from American folk songs, and popular and patriotic tunes, which I believe merit inclusion in serious compositions.
The program finished memorably with a transporting realization of Felix Mendelssohn’s exquisite Symphony No. 4 in A Major, Op. 90, the “Italian,” from 1833. The first, Allegro vivace movement is ebullient and very characteristic of the composer’s sensibility and not without mysterious measures; it becomes more dynamic before it closes affirmatively. The succeeding, graceful Andante con motoprojects a more serious ethos, while the melodious, subsequent movement, marked Con moto moderato, has a Trio section that is simultaneously noble, quasi-bucolic, and somewhat subdued. The Presto finale, a Saltarello, moves forward breathlessly and features astonishing fugal writing before ending forcefully.
Deservedly, the artists received a standing ovation.
Boston Symphony Orchestra at United in Sound: America at 250 Part 2
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Friday, 17 April 2026 14:01
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Photo by Fadi Kheir
At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Friday, April 10th, I had the enormous privilege to attend the second of two amazing concerts on consecutive days—presented by Carnegie Hall as part of its festival, United in Sound: America at 250—performed by the extraordinary musicians of the Boston Symphony Orchestra under the outstanding direction of Andris Nelsons.
The event started very auspiciously with the brilliant realization of the New York premiere of Finnish composer Outi Tarkiainen’s haunting, mysterious Day Night Day from 2024, which is a joint commission from the Berlin Philharmoniker, this ensemble, and the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra. Robert Kirzinger provides some background on the piece in a useful note on the program:
Tarkiainen’s latest opera, Day of Night, is a collaboration with the director, writer, and dramaturg Aleksi Barrière, son of the composers Kaija Saariaho and Jean-Baptiste Barrière. The opera’s libretto is primarily in English but also features other languages, including Sámi. The scenario is based on the Sámi poet and writer Niillas Holmberg’s first novel, Halla Hella. The opera was commissioned by Aalto Musiktheater Essen and Finnish National Opera and Ballet.
The musical material of Tarkiainen’s single-movement tone poem Day Night Day is derived from the music of Day of Night. The composer writes, “Day Night Day is an orchestral work about the northern light and ice that every winter invade the land but that reflect the early spring light in brilliant spectra. The work incorporates references to two Sámi melodies: a yoik of Láve Nigá Risten from the Teno region of Northern Finnish Lapland, heralded by muted trumpets towards the beginning of the work; and a variation of the old South Sámi lullaby Sjamma, sjamma hummed at the end by the woodwinds.” A yoik (or joik) is a vocal genre described as being a kind of musical totem of a person, place, or animal.
The composer was present to witness the audience’s acclaim.
The astonishing virtuoso Lang Lang then entered the stage as soloist for a fabulous account of Edvard Grieg’s enchanting Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 16, from 1868. The tuneful, initial, Allegro molto moderato movement begins dramatically and what immediately follows is passionate, sometimes moody, and highly Romantic, although there are moments of more subdued lyricism; it closes forcefully. The succeeding Adagio has a more reflective ethos on the whole but there are bravura passages; it ends softly. The finale, marked Allegro moderato molto e marcato is propulsive and energetic, even exuberant, and often dazzling, but again, there are serene, as well as emotional, inward measures before breathless music with dance-like rhythms moves to the fore; it concludes triumphantly. Enthusiastic applause elicited a delightful encore from the pianist: “Mia and Sebastian's Theme” from Justin Hurwitz’s score for the film La La Land (arr. Kerber).
The second half of the evening was even more memorable: a seemingly unsurpassable version of Jean Sibelius’s marvelous Symphony No. 1 in E Minor, Op. 39, from 1899. The Allegro energico, first movement opens with a somewhat forlorn, Andante ma non troppo introduction for solo clarinet and timpani, but more turbulent music quickly ensues; brighter, transitional measures for the strings, harp and woodwinds usher in more characteristically Sibelian sonorities, although the early influence of Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky is discernible—the movement’s almost tentative finish arrives surprisingly early. The subsequent, Andante ma non troppo lento has a somewhat lugubrious, if stirring, quality that is sometimes displaced by more affirmative, quasi-pastoral interludes—it also foreshadows the sensibility of the composer’s later symphonies and it too closes unexpectedly soon. The main body of the next, Allegro movement—it functions as a scherzo—has a dynamic, driving momentum, while its Trio is more song-like; it concludes abruptly. Much of the Finale (Quasi una fantasia) has a suspenseful intensity contrasting with plaintive, if noble, episodes for the violins—it ends quietly after a powerful climax.
The artists deservedly received a standing ovation.
Boston Symphony Orchestra at United in Sound: America at 250, Part 1
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Thursday, 16 April 2026 14:30
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Photo by Chris Lee
At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Thursday, April 9th, I had the exceptional privilege of attending the first of two outstanding concerts on consecutive days—presented by Carnegie Hall as part of its festival, United in Sound: America at 250—performed by the splendid musicians of the Boston Symphony Orchestra under the brilliant direction of Andris Nelsons.
The event started strongly with an impressive realization of John Adams’s marvelous concert suite, Three Scenes from Nixon in China, excellently sung by the now legendary soprano Renée Fleming—she wore a fabulous gown—and baritone Thomas Hampson, along with the superb Tanglewood Festival Chorus conducted by Lisa Wong. Robert Kirzinger provided some background in a useful note on the opera from which the selections were drawn:
Composed between 1985 and 1987, Nixon in China grew out of a suggestion from the director Peter Sellars, who, along with librettist Alice Goodman, collaborated with Adams on most of his stage works. Adams has also worked frequently with Nixon in China choreographer Mark Morris. The plot of Nixon in China is based on historic events that took place just 15 years before the opera’s premiere.
The music is written in the minimalist idiom forged by artists like Philip Glass and Michael Nyman.
The second half of the evening was even more remarkable, consisting of a terrific account of Antonín Dvořák’s magnificent Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 95, “From the New World,” completed in 1893. The composer was quoted in an interview as saying the following about the United States of America:
The future of music in this country must be founded upon what are called the Negro melodies … These beautiful and varied themes are the product of the soil [with] nothing in the whole range of composition that cannot be supplied with themes from this source.
The main theme of the initial, Allegro molto—which has a solemn, Adagio introduction that ushers in a highly dramatic series of statements—is stirring, as is the movement on the whole, but there are subdued, often very beautiful, quasi-pastoral passages—the composer’s prodigious melodic invention is on full display here and throughout the work. The music builds to measures of climactic intensity more than once before finishing forcefully.
Annotator Steven Ledbetter explains:
According to the composer, the two middle movements were inspired in part by passages in American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s The Song of Hiawatha, on the subject of which he had considered writing an opera. The slow movement was suggested by the funeral of Minnehaha [ . . . . ] (His student William Arms Fisher later wrote the lyrics to the song “Goin’ Home” to fit the melody.) Dvořák’s image for the third movement was the dance in the scene of Hiawatha’s wedding feast.
The ensuing Largo at first recalls the gravity of the first movement’s introduction, but with the articulation of the exquisite primary theme, a predominantly lyrical inspiration becomes manifest; a lovely, contrasting motif that emerges later has a more wistful quality, but a brief, bucolic interlude momentarily summons back some of the portentous grandeur of the symphony before the movement’s haunting, if gentle, conclusion. Much of the succeeding Scherzo, which is also marked Molto vivace, has a suspenseful, seemingly inexorable, forward momentum, but again there are alternating, charming, leisurely, dance-like sections that exude a cheerful spirit; the movement ends abruptly and emphatically. The Allegro con fuoco finale begins dynamically but again there are quiet passages that project a graceful affirmation that differs from the powerful exuberance that ultimately triumphs before it closes softly.
The musicians deservedly received a very enthusiastic ovation.
