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New York Philharmonic Perform Innocente Carreño
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Wednesday, 05 November 2025 15:32
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Diego Matheuz conducts the New York Philharmonic. Photo by Chris Lee
At Lincoln Center’s excellent David Geffen Hall, on the evening of Saturday, October 25th, I had the privilege to attend an outstanding concert presented by the New York Philharmonic, under the extremely impressive direction of Diego Matheuz, whose subscription debut with the ensemble was with these performances.
The event started brilliantly with a sterling realization of Innocente Carreño’s marvelous, seldom played Margariteña, glosa sinfónica, from 1954. According to notes on the program by John Henken, “The work’s title derives from Margarita, an island off the coast of Venezuela, east of Caracas,” the composer’s birthplace. He adds that “Solo horn opens the work, with a motif that introduces the popular song Margarita es una lágrima”:
Margarita es una lágrima,
que un querubín derramó
y al caer en hondo piélago
en perla se convirtió.
Margarita is a tear drop
That a cherubim shed,
And upon falling into the deep sea
It changed into a pearl.
He continues: “The piece quotes several other popular and traditional songs, using Margarita es una lágrima in different guises as a recurring reference point, including a powerful climax. One of these songs is Los Tiguitiguitos (The Little Tigers).” The notes report that: “Other traditional material Carreño uses includes a religious song sung at wakes and funerals and an Afro-Venezuelan social song (Canto del Pilón, a pilón being a small gift or free bonus on a deal).” Margariteña, glosa sinfónica is mysterious at first, and then more exultant, ushering in more music in an affirmative register; it closes triumphantly.
Also rewarding was Erich Korngold’s melodious Concerto in D major for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 35, from 1945, admirably played here by concertmaster Frank Huang—it contains much lovely music. In notes for the program, James M. Keller comments:
Listening to his Violin Concerto, one may hear echoes of familiar film music. Indeed, most of its themes are drawn from Korngold's film scores: in the first movement, from Another Dawn (1937) and Juarez (1939); in the second, from Anthony Adverse (1936, though the movement's misterioso middle section is original to the concerto); in the mercurial finale, from The Prince and the Pauper (1937).
The first, Moderato nobile movement begins lyrically and Romantically with a lush primary theme and concludes forcefully and joyfully; the cadenza that follows the initial development is surprisingly spiky—at moments, the music is strongly reminiscent of that of Richard Strauss. The opening of the ensuing Romance is even more song-like in character, although much of the movement has a wandering, almost ruminative quality; it closes gently. The Finale, marked Allegro assai vivace, starts dynamically and cheerfully and ends spiritedly—much of the first section has a dance-like, even galloping, rhythm.
The second half of the evening was even more memorable: a thrilling account of Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s magnificent Symphony No. 5 in E minor, Op. 64, from 1888. In a letter from that year to his benefactor, Nadezhda von Meck, the composer wrote the following about the work:
Having played my Symphony twice in Petersburg and once in Prague, I have come to the conclusion that it is a failure. There is something repellent in it, some over-exaggerated color, some insincerity of fabrication which the public instinctively recognizes. It was clear to me that the applause and ovations referred not to this but to other works of mine, and that the Symphony itself will never please the public.
Elsewhere he said:
the organic sequence fails, and a skillful join has to be made… . I cannot complain of lack of inventive power, but I have always suffered from want of skill in the management of form.
The Andante introduction to the initial movement is somewhat lugubrious, even mournful, with its “motto theme” that recurs throughout the piece, while the main body of the movement, marked Allegro con anima, becomes quite impassioned, although it is not without reflective passages—at times, maybe surprisingly, one can discern anticipations of some of the symphonic music of Jean Sibelius. Toward the movement’s finish, music with a driving rhythm abruptly engenders a quiet close. The second movement, with a tempo of Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza, starts softly before stating a gorgeous, radiant, Romantic theme—some of the composer’s most exquisite music may be found here. Although some of the movement has an elegiac ethos, it ultimately evinces a compelling, if not unchallenged, optimism; it concludes on a subdued note.
The succeeding Valse, marked Allegro moderato, is imbued with immense charm—some of it has a very playful character but with more serious interludes—and it ends emphatically, if somewhat unexpectedly. The Andante maestoso introduction to the Finale, is solemn, if majestic; the main body of the movement conveys a sense of exhilaration, even of extravagant exuberance, despite some more relaxed but still delightful episodes—it closes in a blaze of glory.
Deservedly, the artists received an enthusiastic ovation.
Estonian Festival Orchestra Perform at Carnegie Hall
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Tuesday, 04 November 2025 15:38
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Photo by Fadi Kheir
At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Thursday, October 23rd, I had the privilege to attend a superb concert presented by Carnegie Hall, devoted to the music of Arvo Pärt, and featuring the extraordinary Estonian Festival Orchestra, under the expert direction of Paavo Järvi.
The event began strongly with a sterling realization of one of the composer’s most popular and beautiful works, Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten, originally written in 1977 and revised in 1980–it very slowly builds to a kind of apotheosis. This was followed by Perpetuum mobile from 1963, a surprisingly rewarding piece from Pärt’s seldom encountered pre-minimalist, serialist phase—its structuring principle of an extended crescendo provides an unexpected anticipation of that of Cantus, although the older piece attains a more shattering climax.
The next work, La Sindone, originally composed in 2005 and then revised in 2022, was also remarkable—as well as mysterious and transcendent in effect, like many of the pieces in the concert. It is, according to the program notes by Peter Bouteneff, “a musical reflection on the theme of the Shroud (Sindone in Italian) of Turin.” The first half of the evening closed with the powerful Adam’s Lament from 2009, which here featured the marvelous Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir, directed by Tõnu Kaljuste. (It is set to a text—a “meditation on Adam,” according to the annotator—by the Russian Orthodox St. Silouan the Athonite.)
The second half of the event was also outstanding, starting with the haunting, very famous Tabula rasa from 1977, featuring the violinists Hans Christian Aavik and the celebrated Midori, as well as the eminent composer Nico Muhly on prepared piano. The first movement, Ludus, is one of increasing intensity, while the second, Silentium, is more purely meditative and contrastingly structured as a diminuendo. Enthusiastic applause elicited a beautiful encore from the violinists and the ensemble: Pärt’s Passacaglia.
The brilliant Fratres, which was played immediately after, is another one of Pärt’s most familiar pieces, while the succeeding Swansong from 2013 is according to the annotator, an “orchestral setting of an earlier sung composition (Littlemore Tractus, 2000),” which is based on a prayer by Cardinal John Henry Newman. The program proper closed forcefully with its most challenging work, the often raucous Credo from 1968, which also featured the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir, Trinity Choir, and Muhly on piano; Bouteneff records that, “The chords of Bach’s Prelude in C Major open the composition, and they return in different forms.” A standing ovation drew forth another marvelous encore, Pärt’s Estonian Lullaby, which proved to be the most charming piece of this memorable evening.
Night Two of The Israel Philharmonic Orchestra at Carnegie Hall
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Tuesday, 04 November 2025 14:59
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Lahav Shani, photo by Stephanie Berger
At the invaluable Stern Auditorium, on the night of Thursday, October 16th, I had the privilege to attend a wonderful concert—the second of three in the same week—presented by Carnegie Hall and featuring the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra under the accomplished direction of Lahav Shani.
The event started memorably with an admirable account of Leonard Bernstein’s seldom played Halil from 1981, which affords some of the pleasures of his more popular—and populist—scores. The composer commented on the piece as follows:
This work is dedicated to “the spirit of Yadin and to his fallen brothers.” The reference is to Yadin Tanenbaum, a 19-year-old Israeli flutist who, in 1973, at the height of his musical powers, was killed in his tank in the Sinai. He would have been 27 years old at the time this piece was written.
Halil (the Hebrew word for “flute”) is formally unlike any other work I have written but is like much of my music in its struggle between tonal and non-tonal forces. In this case, I sense that struggle as involving wars and the threat of wars, the overwhelming desire to live, and the consolations of art, love, and the hope for peace. It is a kind of night-music which, from its opening 12-tone row to its ambiguously diatonic final cadence, is an ongoing conflict of nocturnal images: wish-dreams, nightmares, repose, sleeplessness, night-terrors, and sleep itself, Death’s twin brother.
I never knew Yadin Tanenbaum, but I know his spirit.
Comparable in rarity was the next piece, Paul Ben-Haim’s unsung, here compellingly performed Symphony No. 1, Op. 25, a worthy, if maybe not consistently extraordinary, work. In a note on the program, Oded Shnei-Dor explains:
“The moment I conducted my first symphony with the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra (IPO) was the moment I felt like an Israeli composer,” stated Paul Ben-Haim in an interview towards the end of his life.
Written in 1939 and 1940 during the tumultuous events in Europe, the composer affirmed that: “The terrible forces of destruction which tore the ground from under our feet could not fail to leave their stamp on my work … In spite of this, my work is ‘pure’ and ‘absolute’ music.” The annotator adds that:
In a short lecture to celebrate its commercial recording, [Ben-Haim] said, “This is not simple music. Definitely not. Far from it. However, it is not complex. One has to hear to listen. If you like it—that’s good. If you don’t like it—that’s also good, as you can enjoy extraordinary orchestral playing.”
The initial, Allegro energico movement begins stormily, although a more expansive section—reminiscent of Jean Sibelius—soon follows, succeeded by a quieter, more enigmatic, somewhat premonitory episode; more turbulent, dramatic music eventually returns which, after another subdued passage, becomes a powerful march that concludes abruptly. On the ensuing, lovely Molto calmo e cantabile, Shnei-Dor records that:
The musical material of the movement is derived from “I lift up my eyes to the mountains,” a popular song from the repertoire of Bracha Zefira, a singer that Ben-Haim accompanied for a decade.
Appropriately lyrical, the music intensifies, although it soon recovers a more reflective, even pastoral, ethos, ending softly. About the finale, marked Presto con fuoco, the annotator remarks:
The first theme originates from Joram, Ben-Haim’s largest composition from his time in Germany. The second theme is a syncopated hora, the Israeli national dance, which is played heroically at the end of the symphony.
It opens propulsively and maintains a sense of suspense, building to a triumphant close.
The second half of the evening was even stronger, consisting in a superb version of Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s magnificent Symphony No. 5 in E Minor, Op. 64, written in 1888, a work that, interestingly, he deemed “a failure,” adding that: “There is something repellent in it, some over-exaggerated color, some insincerity of fabrication which the public instantly recognizes.” The first movement’s Andante introduction is soulful and poignant; its Allegro con anima main body is, as would be expected, more spirited and dynamic, with moments of pure Romanticism, and it finishes gently. The next movement—its tempo is Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza—starts with an exquisite horn solo and is indeed song-like—it contains some of the composer’s most beautiful music, reaching a stunning climax that ushers in an elaborate coda, and concluding very quietly. The following Valse, marked Allegro moderato, is indeed dance-like, relatively effervescent and radiant with charm, although it ends with some suddenness. The Andante maestoso introduction to the Finale is stately, while the bulk of the Allegro vivace movement is exultant and exuberant, indeed thrilling, closing forcefully and affirmatively. Enthusiastic applause elicited a delightful encore: Felix Mendelssohn’s Three Songs, arranged by Shani.
Off-Broadway Reviews—Two at the Public: John Leguizamo’s “The Other Americans” and Richard Nelson’s “When the Hurlyburly’s Done”
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Saturday, 01 November 2025 02:56
- Written by Kevin Filipski
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| Leguizamo and Velez in The Other Americans (photo: Joan Marcus) |
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| A scene from When the Hurlyburly’s Done |
