Juilliard Orchestra Perform Valerie Coleman and More at Lincoln Center

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Friday, 23 October 2026 12:58

Written by Jack Angstreich

At Lincoln Center’s wonderful Alice Tully Hall, on the night of Monday, October 19th, I had the exceptional pleasure to attend a superb concert presented by the extraordinary Juilliard Orchestra, under the accomplished direction of Jeffrey Milarsky.

The event started splendidly with an admirable account of Sergei Prokofiev’s excellent Piano Concerto No. 3 in C Major, Op. 26, from 1921, astonishingly played by the remarkable soloist, Maxim Lando. The brief, Andante introduction to the initial movement has a forlorn quality but this is quickly displaced by the often breathless, Allegro main body which also features more leisurely passages, sometimes of a playful character but at other times soulful and lyrical, even mysterious. The movement showcases some dazzling pianism which becomes forceful and impassioned toward the finish—it concludes abruptly and emphatically. The ensuing Andantino too has ludic elements that contrast with episodes of much greater seriousness—these are sometimes highly dramatic when not rather subdued. Its closing section is propulsive and exciting but, again, with slower, more charming or plaintive interludes. The finale—marked Allegro, ma non troppo—projects a certain boisterousness or tempestuousness that is punctuated by more song-like or reflective moments as well as more quirky measures; it reaches a more emotional and weighty climax, ending suddenly.

Also impressive was the next work on the program, Valerie Coleman’s compelling Renaissance Concerto for Orchestra, from 2024, a tone poem that is “a response to painter Jacob Lawrence’s War Series and Migration Series.”Its first movement is striking, at times enchanting—it builds to an arresting, indeed powerful, conclusion. Here I reproduce the composer’s note on the second and third movements:

A film noir sky view of a metropolitan

city opens the curtains of the second

movement in grandiose flair, with fire

engines and police cars screaming by

as they race across the city to put

out fires. The riots (Panels 50 and 51

of the Migration Series) that occurred

throughout the Midwest and the

North (riot of East St. Louis, Tulsa

massacre, and the red summer of 1919

in Philadelphia) are depicted here, as

the flames turn into the smoldering

embers of a tuba solo. Solo violin (and

subsequently the section) takes over,

singing the heart of this movement: a

ballad of urban life, with all the joys and

pain that come with it.

The final movement, Cotton Club Juba,

emerges out of the second movement’s

ending with raindrops as the scene

shifts to a misty evening in Harlem and

the nightlife of big bands and clubs

during the Prohibition Era. The movies

often depict this time as a dance-filled

escapism, but I wanted to capture the

gritty reality of the “exoticism” and

stereotype of “jungle music” that took

hold both in Harlem and “Le Jazz Hot”

cabaret of Paris. There is no artwork for

this from Jacob Lawrence, but I hope

that the audience can visualize jazz big

bands, Duke Ellington, Josephine Baker,

and many others who found release

through dance and song within this era.

(There’s) a slow sinister groove between

the bassoons and horns as if we are

riding the railways across the country.

Arriving at the eastern seaboard, we

are immersed into the dancing nightlife

of mafia, illegal alcohol, showgirls,

zoot suit fashion, and the underbelly

of Broadway afterhours. Small clusters

of Charleston dance rhythm appear,

made popular by expats Josephine

Baker and Ada "Bricktop" Smith, who

gave dance lessons to the Parisian

elite, alternating with slower sections

dedicated to the storied writers of the

era, Langston Hughes, Zora Neale

Hurston, and Ernest Hemingway. From

the wailing sounds of the start, all the

way to the rip-roaring dancing of the

early 20th century, it is my hope that

(Renaissance) Concerto for Orchestra connects us all through story and song.

Coleman was present to receive the audience’s acclaim.

The second half of the evening was even more memorable, consisting of a marvelous rendition of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s magnificent Symphonic Dances, Op. 45, from 1940. The first movement begins somewhat suspensefully and a sense of tension is sustained throughout most of it—this is interrupted by an extended, poignant, even melancholy saxophone solo which is answered by lovely, even sadder music in the strings before, ultimately, a recapitulation of the opening march material that leads to a less urgent dénouement and a much softer close. The Andante con moto that follows is not without some uncanniness at the outset, but it becomes a bewitching waltz with some ironic inflections—the music eventually accelerates to an almost frantic pace, finishing more gently. After a more restrained, Lento assai, introductory section, the spirited, main body, marked Allegro vivace, is dynamic and brisk in rhythm at times, but with some rather passionate music strongly contrasting in tempo and mood—it ends thrillingly, almost shockingly.

Deservedly, the artists were enthusiastically applauded.

Juilliard Jazz Orchestra Is The New "Chairman of the Board" at Lincoln Center

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Thursday, 22 October 2026 13:35

Written by Jack Angstreich

Aanya Sengupta performs with the Juilliard Jazz Orchestra. Photo by Claudio Papapietro

At Lincoln Center’s excellent Peter Jay Sharp Theater, on the night of Friday, October 16th, I had the incomparable pleasure to attend a superb concert devoted to the fabulous music of Count Basie, here performed by the extraordinary Juilliard Jazz Orchestra.

The event started delightfully with the classic “Who, Me?” written and arranged by Frank Foster—who later led the Basie band—famously recorded on the celebrated 1959 studio album, Chairman of the Board. A terrific vocalist, Aanya Sengupta, then entered the stage to splendidly sing the 1929 “Blue Devil Blues” by Don Stovall, originally recorded as a B-side by the Oklahoma City Blue Devils—of which ensemble, Basie was a member—for which it was sung by Jimmy Rushing. That group also recorded the next selection, “Squabblin’,” which Basie himself composed and which was the A-side of that release.

The next tune, “Prince of Wails,” was written by bandleader Bennie Moten, whose orchestra Basie joined in 1929. This was followed by another composition recorded by Moten’s Kansas City Orchestra, “Toby.” After this, “Blue and Sentimental” was played, which Basie co-wrote with eminent songwriters Jerry Livingston and Mack David. The first set closed enjoyably with two of Basie’s most popular standards, beginning with “Jumpin’ at the Woodside,” from 1938, followed by “One O’Clock Jump,” from 1937.

The second half of the evening—which, in contrast to the first, focused on Basie’s later, “New Testament” period—was at least equally memorable, opening with another Foster tune, “Blues in Hoss’ Flat,” a recording of which also appears on Chairman of the Board—Jerry Lewis brilliantly mimed to this music in a masterful sequence in his imaginative 1961 film, The Errand Boy. The succeeding “Corner Pocket” from 1955 is another jazz standard that Sarah Vaughan recorded with Basie’s orchestra. A highlight of the program was the return of Sengupta to perform three more wonderful songs, starting with “Every Day I Have the Blues,” made famous by Joe Williams. She followed this with the comparably charming “We'll Be Together Again” from 1945, which was composed by Carl T. Fischer, with lyrics by Frankie Laine. She closed out her brief set winningly with the 1926 standard, “‘Deed I Do,” which Basie recorded with Ella Fitzgerald for their 1963 album, Ella and Basie!

The next selection, the remarkable “The Kid from Red Bank,” was written by Neal Hefti and appeared on another acclaimed album, The Atomic Mr. Basie from 1958. This preceded “Count Me In” which was a track on the 1964 album, Basie Land, with all music by Billy Byers. The penultimate composition in this concert was “Way Out Basie” by Ernie Wilkins, an important arranger for Basie, and the program concluded marvelously with “In a Mellow Tone,” a number written by Basie’s friendly rival and sometime collaborator, the great Duke Ellington, in another arrangement by Foster.

The artists were deservedly, enthusiastically applauded.

Philadelphia Orchestra Present "Liberty Bell" and More at Carnegie Hall

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Thursday, 15 October 2026 13:03

Written by Jack Angstreich

Photo by Chris Lee

At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Tuesday, October 13th, I had the inestimable pleasure of attending a fabulous concert—presented by Carnegie Hall as the first performance in this season’s cycle of the complete symphonies of Gustav Mahler—featuring the superb Philadelphia Orchestra under the brilliant direction of the irrepressible Yannick Nézet-Séguin.

The event started dazzlingly with an extraordinary account of Anton Webern’s magnificent, too seldom played Im Sommerwind, idyll for large orchestra, from 1904, which is often sumptuous and is surprisingly variegated in mood and texture, recalling the tone poems of Richard Strauss. Also outstanding, if projecting an ethos rather at odds with the other works on the program, was a marvelous realization of the New York premiere of Julia Wolfe’s often thrilling Liberty Bell from last year—co-commissioned by this venue—which has idiomatic elements drawn from popular musical forms. The composer, who was present to receive the audience’s acclaim, has said the following in connection with this piece: 

I grew up in a small town north of Philadelphia. The image of the silent cracked Liberty Bell is emblazoned in my memory.

She wrote this as well in her own program note:

My Liberty Bell is not silent. The over 100 musicians on stage are raucous and loud. Battles between independent rhythmic lines form a jagged composite whole. Metal chimes and pitched bell plates are struck to resonate and ring out. Obtaining liberty is not a quiet, tidy process. It is a messy, boisterous, ongoing, interlocking struggle. How can a piece of music embody and communicate the elusive reach for the most basic tenet of the founding of the country? The idea of liberty is everywhere—imprinted on coins, decorating postage stamps, declared in poetry and song, sprinkled through speeches. Music is my way of adding to the clamor. I shout out perseverance, grab tight to optimism, and search for a way forward. Taking the bell’s inscription literally, “unto all the inhabitants thereof,” the proclamation speaks to all who reach for the promise of liberty.

The second half of the evening was even more spectacular, consisting of an astonishing version of Mahler’s incomparable Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, the final revision of which was completed in 1904. In one of his last letters he stated: “It is clear that all the experience I had gained in writing the first four symphonies completely let me down in this one—for an entirely new style demanded a new technique.” The initial movement begins with a stirring fanfare that becomes increasingly dramatic, ushering in recurring waltz-like music that is punctuated by bursts of turbulence that sometimes recapitulate the thematic material of the opening, until it ends abruptly. The tempestuousness of the first movement is continued in much of the closely related second, which also recycles motifs from the earlier one, and here too, there are lyrical passages; the music builds to a triumphant climax before concluding softly in a more serene, quasi-pastoral dénouement. 

About the next movement, the composer said: 

The Scherzo is an accursed movement! It will have a long history of suffering! For 50 years conductors will take it too fast and make nonsense of it. The public—oh heavens—how should it react to this chaos that is eternally giving birth to a world that then perishes in the next movement, to these primordial sounds, to this blustering, bellowing, roaring ocean, to these dancing stars, to these shimmering, flashing, breathing waves.

It is characteristically playful and indeed cheerful—and here too there are waltz-like interludes—but it is shot through with suspenseful, even portentous, measures, as well as irenic episodes; it finishes joyfully, even boisterously, with some suddenness. The ensuing, celebrated Adagietto is glorious and celestial, but also with more emotional moments of intense urgency—this reaches a stunning apotheosis, closing very quietly. The Rondo-Finale starts with another, although more bucolic, fanfare—this movement too has a sunny radiance, growing more exuberant at length, ending exultantly.

The artists deservedly were rapturously applauded.