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Photo by Chris Lee
At Lincoln Center’s wonderful David Geffen Hall, on the night of Saturday, April 25th, I had the exceptional privilege to attend an amazing concert featuring the New York Philharmonic, splendidly conducted by the magnificent and beautiful soprano, Barbara Hannigan.
The event started auspiciously with a marvelous realization of Richard Strauss’s extraordinary Metamorphosen, A Study for 23 Solo Strings, from 1945. In an earlier review I described it as “a tour de force and a paragon of late Romanticism—music that often has a neo-Wagnerian character but that also recalls the work of Gustav Mahler, particularly the Adagietto from his Symphony No. 5.” Other close analogues might be Arnold Schoenberg’s Verklärte Nacht, a possible influence, and Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings, which has some of the same hushed intensity. The late musicologist Michael Steinberg—who was Program Annotator for the New York Philharmonic, Boston Symphony Orchestra, and San Francisco Symphony—commented on the destruction of Munich—the composer’s birthplace—during World War II, as follows:
The National Theater, called the Court Theater in the old days, was destroyed during the night of October 2–3, 1943. A few weeks later he penciled a 24-measure sketch that he labeled Trauer urn München (Mourning for Munich). A figure in quick notes in the middle of the texture would become a crucial component of Metamorphosen. On the morning of March 13, 1945, he learned that the Vienna Opera had burned down the night before; later that day he began to write Metamorphosen.
He went on to identify a theme that appears late in the piece:
It is the funeral march from Beethoven's Symphony No. 3, Eroica, and Strauss writes “IN MEMORIAM!” at the moment of its appearance. It is as though this were the hidden theme of which all this music is the development, the metamorphosis. Strauss himself insisted that when he wrote his Mourning for Munich sketch and its variant in Metamorphosen, he was not aware of the Eroica connection. The idea, he said, just “escaped” from his pen, and it was only while composing Metamorphosen that what now seems so inevitable as well as so moving became clear to him.
The annotators also adduced some further relevant connections:
On the morning of March 13, 1945, Richard Strauss learned that the Vienna Opera had burned down the night before, after an Allied bombing raid. For distraction from his misery, he had started to reread the complete works of Goethe. Almost certainly the title Metamorphosen came from Goethe, who used that word not only in his scientific writings, but also in reference to his own intellectual and spiritual development. Strauss copied two of Goethe's poems into his Metamorphosen sketchbook. The title of the first is Know Thyself, a task, Goethe suggests, as necessary as it is impossible. The second says that even in an incomprehensible world one must
Behave with good sense
As each day brings what it brings.
Always remember: it's worked so far,
And so it will surely work till the end.
Even more memorable, however, was the glorious presentation of the second composition of the evening, which proved to be another tour de force: François Poulenc’s stunning opera, La Voix humaine, Tragédie lyrique en un act, from 1958, adapted from the famous monodrama by Jean Cocteau, here magnificently sung from the podium in a dazzling performance by Hannigan.
The eminent critic Martin Seymour-Smith, in a fascinating assessment, said of Cocteau that he “was one of the most versatile of all modern writers; but his greatest achievement is undoubtedly in the theatre; he was a successful playwright in both avant garde and traditional forms.” In the 1950s and ‘60s, Cocteau was championed by the critics of the magazine Cahiers du cinéma as one of the great French auteurs, deserving a place alongside such masters as Jean Renoir, Max Ophüls, Robert Bresson, Jean-Pierre Melville, and Jacques Becker, for his immortal series of films that included The Blood of a Poet, Beauty and the Beast, Les Parents terribles, Orpheus, and The Testament of Orpheus. He was also a scenarist for Bresson’s Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne, Melville’s Les Enfants terribles, and Georges Franju’s Thomas l’imposteur, the latter two adapted from Cocteau’s own novels. His play, The Eagle with Two Heads, which he himself filmed in 1948, was the basis for Michelangelo Antonioni’s The Mystery of Oberwald from 1980, which starred Monica Vitti. The Human Voice was unforgettably filmed by Roberto Rossellini in 1948 with Anna Magnani.
With perfect justice, Hannigan and the musicians received an unusually enthusiastic ovation.
Nikolaj Szeps Znaider performs on violin and conducts the New York Philharmonic at David Geffen Hall. Photo by Chris Lee
At Lincoln Center’s wonderful David Geffen Hall, on the night of Saturday, March 28, I had the privilege to attend a superb concert presented by the New York Philharmonic under the impressive direction of the celebrated violinist, Nikolaj Szeps-Znaider.
The event started strongly with him serving as soloist in a marvelous account of Max Bruch’s terrific Violin Concerto No. 1 in G minor, Op. 26, which reached its ultimate form in 1867. James M. Keller, described as “a former New York Philharmonic Program Annotator and the author of Chamber Music: A Listener's Guide, provides some useful background on it:
It was a relatively early work, begun tentatively in 1857 but composed mostly between 1864 and 1866, while Bruch was serving as music director at the court in Koblenz, Germany. Following the concerto's premiere, in April 1866, with Otto von Königslow as soloist, Bruch immediately decided to rework it.
Bruch was uncertain about titling the piece a concerto and considered calling it a “fantasy” instead. The great virtuoso violinist, Joseph Joachim, replied:
As to your doubts, I am happy to say that I find the title “concerto” fully justified; for the name “fantasy” the last two movements are actually too completely and symmetrically developed.
Keller reports that:
when he was asked to characterize the four most famous German concertos in his repertoire — by Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Bruch, and Brahms — he insisted that Bruch's was “the richest and the most seductive.”
The Allegro moderato Prelude that begins the composition opens somewhat suspensefully with a slow introduction, while an intensifying sense of drama and solemnity pervades the movement’s main body. The ensuing Adagio is melodious and lyrical, even lush at times—it builds to a kind of climax before closing softly. The Allegro energico Finale is ebullient and not infrequently dazzling but with some more serious passages; it concludes triumphantly. Enthusiastic applause elicited a splendid encore featuring Szeps-Znaider: Manuel Ponce’s “Estrellita,” arranged by Jascha Heifetz.
At least equally memorable was a sterling realization of Richard Strauss’s fabulous tone poem, Till Eulenspiegel’s Merry Pranks, Op. 28, completed in 1895. A contemporary reviewer, Gustav Schoenaich, in the Neue Musikalische Presse in 1896, pointedly assessed it thus:
Richard Strauss's musical education is profoundly thorough. … We do not know, if the piece had been sent out into the world without the title, whether the name Eulenspiegel would have been attached to it by someone from among the circle of listeners; but [its] fundamental character, oscillating between humor, sarcasm, and irony, radiates from every measure, here and there perhaps even too garishly. The piece is dazzlingly clever, does not break down into its individual parts, captivates the intellect of the listener perhaps more than his sensibility — but with its convincing logic and skillfully measured length it never for a moment leaves him without stimulation. It is eminently amusing.
The second half of the evening was comparable in power, consisting of a stirring version of Edward Elgar’s excellent Variations on an Original Theme, Enigma, Op. 36, which was finished in 1899. The composer stated:
The enigma I will not explain — its “dark saying” must be left unguessed, and I warn you that the apparent connection between the Variations and the Theme is often of the slightest texture; further, through and over the whole set another and larger theme “goes,” but is not played — so the principal Theme never appears, even as in some late dramas — e.g. Maeterlinck's L'Intruse and Les Sept princesses — the chief character is never on the stage.
He also said:
It may be understood that these personages comment or reflect on the original theme & each one attempts a solution of the Enigma, for so the theme is called.
With justice, the musicians received a standing ovation.
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