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Film and the Arts
Boston Symphony Orchestra Perform Soviet Era Classic & More
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Monday, 28 April 2025 14:12
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Photo by Chris Lee
At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Wednesday, April 23rd, I had the pleasure of attending an excellent concert presented by Carnegie Hall—the first of two on consecutive days—featuring the Boston Symphony Orchestra under the distinguished direction of Andris Nelsons.
The event began splendidly with a marvelous realization—featuring the superb soloist Mitsuko Uchida—of Ludwig van Beethoven’s extraordinary Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major, Op. 58, completed in 1806. The initial, Allegro moderato movement begins with the hushed playing of the solo piano; with the entrance of the orchestra, the music increases in intensity. Throughout much of this movement, the music has an almost celestial quality and it closes grandly. The ethos of the ensuing Andante co moto is somewhat starker and it ends inwardly and very quietly. Contrastingly, the Rondo finale, marked Vivace, is ebullient but with some song-like moments, and it concludes triumphantly.
The second half of the evening was comparably memorable, an admirable account of Dmitri Shostakovich’s ambitious, seldom performed, Symphony No. 15 in A Major, Op. 141, from 1971—it stood favorably, measured against the recent rendition in late February of the same work played by the New York Philharmonic and conducted by Santtu-Matias Rouvali. Shostakovich commented on the piece as follows:
I was composing in the hospital, then I left the hospital and continued writing at my summer house—I just could not tear myself away from it. It’s one of those works that just completely carried me away, and maybe even one of my few compositions that seemed completely clear to me from the first note to the last.
The accomplished scholar of Soviet music—especially that of Sergei Prokofiev—Harlow Robinson, in a useful note on the program states:
To his close friend Isaac Glikman, the composer joked ironically that the 15th Symphony was “turning out to be lacking in ideals” (“bezideinaya”), a label often applied by Communist Party officials to work they found politically deficient.
The symphony is more purely “abstract” and enigmatic music than Shostakovich had recently written in the symphonic form, and is more rhapsodic in structure. The first movement, Allegretto, combines the manic energy of the William Tell motif with a humorous, sarcastic character recalling some of the composer’s early works; the composer called it, perhaps ironically, “just a toy shop.” In the somber, mournful second movement, the orchestral forces are often reduced to chamber size and to solo voices. A funeral march builds to a massive climax with large percussion forces before receding into a heavenly calm. Squealing and laughing woodwinds dominate the grotesque, darkly humorous scherzo, creating a sort of frantic dance atmosphere.
The first movement opens somewhat playfully—it amusingly quotes Gioachino Rossini’s famous Overture to his opera, William Tell—and remains so—it is eccentric but almost rushed at times. The succeeding Adagio is solemn, even lugubrious, while the Allegretto third movement is also quirky, even uncanny, but jocular too—it closes abruptly and unexpectedly. The annotator describes the finale thus:
The fourth movement opens with three references to Richard Wagner, beginning with the “fate” motif from the Ring cycle. The solo timpani line that follows suggests the rhythm of “Siegfried’s Funeral March” from the last Ring opera, Götterdämmerung.And the three notes (A-F-E) played by the first violins at the end of the introductory Adagio echo the opening notes of the Tristan and Isolde Prelude. In the Allegretto, a pleasantly lyrical theme meanders through thinly scored string, woodwind, and brass passages. Then the mood darkens with the entry of the sinister marching passacaglia in the low strings. Eventually the lyrical theme joins in, and then again the Wagnerian motif. The relentless passacaglia theme builds to what Krzystof Meyer has described as a “soul-searing climax,” and then the music begins to fade and fragment into a weirdly ethereal coda, reminiscent of the Fourth Symphony, with knocking instruments tapping out what sounds like the ticking of a clock pronouncing the end of time, or asking a question.
Th artists, deservedly, were enthusiastically applauded.
April '25 Digital Week III
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Wednesday, 23 April 2025 19:16
- Written by Kevin Filipski
Juilliard Orchestra Play Storybook Ravel
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Wednesday, 23 April 2025 13:59
- Written by Jack Angstreich
At Lincoln Center’s wonderful Alice Tully Hall, on the night of Thursday, February 20th, I had the exceptional pleasure to attend a superb concert—of music by Maurice Ravel—presented by the fine musicians—here continuing a strong season—of the Juilliard Orchestra, under the outstanding direction of Louis Langrée.
The event started beautifully with a terrific account of the extraordinary Mother Goose from 1911. In the useful program notes, it says about the writer, “Violist Noémie Chemali, who earned her master's from Juilliard in 2022, leads a freelance career in New York City as a performer, teacher, music journalist, grant writer, and arts administrator”; she records:
Ma Mère l'Oye was originally conceived in 1910 as a piano duet, and each movement draws from well-known children's stories. The title nods to Les Contes de ma Mère l'Oye (Tales of Mother Goose), Charles Perrault's iconic 1697 collection of fairy tales.
She adds:
In 1912, the composer orchestrated the piano duo for a ballet, which was staged at the Theatre des Arts in Rouen. This iteration of the work, which will be performed tonight, includes an added Prelude [ . . . . ]
The Prelude is quietly enchanting while the ensuing movement, titled Dance of the Spinning Wheel, is more playful and even dramatic. The Good Fairy, which follows, is exquisite and replete with hushed atmospherics at first, but is then more overtly programmatic. Next, Pavane of the Sleeping Beauty, is graceful and waltz-like at the outset, then uncanny; a rapid climax leads to a luminous dénouement. The section Tom Thumb is lovely and gentle and the succeeding Laideronnette, Empress of the Pagodas is exotic and otherworldly with ludic passages and East Asian influences. Finally, The Fairy Garden is lush, bewitching and concludes triumphantly.
The amazing second half of the evening was at least equally impressive: a magnificent realization of the glorious L’enfant et les sortilèges from 1925, with terrific singers from Juilliard's Ellen and James S. Marcus Institute for Vocal Arts, especially the marvelous Theo Hayes in the lead role of The Child. Chemali edifyingly provides much of the relevant background to the work:
In 1914, Jacques Rouché, head of the
Paris Opéra, approached the celebrated French novelist Colette for a new ballet scenario. The result, Divertissements pour ma fille (Entertainment for My Daughter), was inspired by Colette's observations of her own child, Bel-Gazou, and her frequent tantrums. Colette's script captured the pure imagination and emotional turbulence of childhood, blending her signature humor, wit, and psychological insight. Rouché, impressed by the work, reached out to Ravel to compose the music to accompany the ballet scenario.
At the time, however, Ravel was serving as an ambulance driver during the First World War. Initially indifferent to the project, he dismissed the subject as uninspiring and expressed uncertainty about composing for the ballet genre. Yet he soon persuaded Colette to reimagine her scenario as a libretto for an opera, and some years later, after reading through the new text, found the spark he was hoping for.
The opera tells the tale of a temperamental child who, after being chastised by his mother for not doing his homework, mistreats his surroundings—tearing his books, breaking his toys, and lashing out at the world. In doing so, he unwittingly awakens magical forces. His bed, furniture, and even forest creatures spring to life, taking revenge for his misdeeds. As the inanimate objects and animals around him come to life and confront the child with the consequences of his actions, he embarks on a journey of transformation, learning the virtue of empathy. In the end, his sincere apology earns their forgiveness, the magic subsides, and he reconciles with his mother.
Ravel said this about the music:
I am for melody. Yes, melody, bel canto, vocalises, vocal virtuosity—this is for me a point of departure. This lyric fantasy calls for melody, nothing but melody. The score of L'enfant et les sortilèges is a very smooth blending of all styles from all epochs, from Bach up to … Ravel [!]
The annotator comments: “Indeed, Ravel combines Baroque dance, classical forms, and elements of jazz and folk idioms to illuminate the unique personality of the characters or objects brought to life in the opera.” The comical concert staging directed by Jeanne Slater featured rather broad acting but also some very charming dancing. The artists, deservedly, were enthusiastically applauded.
Philadelphia Orchestra Performs Mahler at Carnegie Hall
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Monday, 21 April 2025 13:21
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Photo by Chris Lee.
At the outstanding Stern Auditorium, on the night of Tuesday, April 15th, I had the tremendous pleasure of attending a superb performance of Gustav Mahler’s glorious Symphony No. 6 in A Minor—in its final, 1906 revision—played by the extraordinary Philadelphia Orchestra under the stellar direction of the inestimable Yannick Nézet-Séguin. (The concert, which continues a strong season of orchestral music at the venue, was presented by Carnegie Hall.)
In a valuable note on the program, Christopher H. Gibbs records that:
Mahler performed his Sixth just three times. The printed program for the last performance in Vienna carried the title “Tragic.” (It was not so named in the manuscript, at the premiere, or in the published editions released during his lifetime.)
The eminent conductor Bruno Walter, a close associate of the composer, had this to say about the work:
It reeks of the bitter cup of human life. In contrast with the Fifth, the Sixth says “No,” above all in its last movement, where something resembling the inexorable strife of “all against all” is translated into music. “Existence is a burden; death is desirable and life hateful” might be its motto.
And, in a letter to the critic Richard Specht, Mahler wrote: “My Sixth will pose puzzles which can only be broached by a generation which has imbibed and digested my first five.”
The turbulent initial movement—marked Allegro energico, ma non troppo—begins urgently, propulsively, forcefully and suspensefully with a recurring, dramatic, funeral march; a more subdued passage ushers in a surge of contrasting, Romantic lyricism that too returns as the movement unfolds. The movement, which is not without engaging eccentricities and which builds to a stunning apotheosis, contains more tentative, reflective and interior interludes—the first with pastoral elements (bells) that reappear in the third and fourth movements. Gibbs comments on these, quoting the composer:
He indicates that they “must be treated very discreetly—in realistic imitation of the higher and lower bells of a grazing herd, sounding from afar, sometimes combined, sometimes singly,” and then tellingly adds: “It must be expressly stated that this technical remark allows no programmatic interpretation.”
The ensuing Scherzo is a thrilling, almost menacing, march-like Ländler; its marvelous Trio is more playful, even ingenuous. The movement has many surprising, even extravagant, developments; it closes quietly, if quirkily.
The annotator reports that “Arnold Schoenberg praised the ‘curious structure’ of the beautiful melody that opens the Andante moderato.” It opens hauntingly with an exquisite flow of unusual, thematic inspirations—a gentle joyousness shines throughout it and it is arguably the loveliest of the symphony’s four movements. The music intensifies but the movement concludes very softly and serenely.
Walter’s view of the unwieldy, inordinately anfractuous, Allegro moderato Finale was as:
...the mounting tensions and climaxes [that] resemble, in their grim power, the mountainous waves of a sea that will overwhelm and destroy the ship ... The work ends in hopelessness and the dark night of the soul. Non placet is his verdict on this world; the “other world” is not glimpsed for a moment.
The movement starts portentously, if somewhat inchoately, with diverse musical ideas that evolve in unexpected ways, sometimes tumultuously, sometimes evoking a bucolic reverie. (The famous hammer blows in the movement were specified by the composer to be ”short, mighty, but dull in resonance, with a non-metallic character, like the stroke of an ax.") The symphony’s brilliant ending is simultaneously and paradoxically hushed and emphatic.
The artists, deservedly, were enthusiastically applauded.
