New York Philharmonic Perform Chen Yi & More

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Wednesday, 11 February 2026 20:51

Written by Jack Angstreich

Soloist Yefim Bronfman, photo by Brandon Patoc

At Lincoln Center’s wonderful David Geffen Hall, on the night of Saturday, January 17th, I had the privilege to attend an excellent concert presented by the New York Philharmonic under the sterling direction of Xian Zhang.

The event started auspiciously with the admirably realized New York premiere of the impressively orchestrated Landscape Impression by Chen Yi, which is shot through with a strong sense of urgency and finishes forcefully but resists easy encapsulation. According to useful notes on the program by Thomas May—who “is a writer, critic, educator, and translator whose work appears in such publications as The New York Times, Gramophone, and The Strad”—“The work is inspired by two short poems by Su Shi written in the 1070s, during the Song dynasty.” He adds: “These two poems — Landscape and The West Lake — offer contrasting views of the same site.” And he reports that the composer admires the music of Witold Lutosławski and Isang Yun. On the piece’s close, Chen said: 

I didn't wrap up quietly. I wanted the ending to move toward light and the future — a feeling that could belong both to the poet and to today's listeners. 

The renowned soloist Yefim Bronfman then entered the stage for a magisterial performance of Robert Schumann’s Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 54, which was completed in 1845 and is one of the very finest essays in the genre of its period. 

The former New York Philharmonic Program Annotator, James M. Keller, records that “In 1839 [Schumann] had written to his then-fiancée, Clara Wieck” as follows: “Concerning concertos, I've already said to you that I can't write a concerto for virtuosi and have to think of something else.” He astutely adds, “What he produced was not, in fact, a highly virtuosic piece,” and that:

This is a supremely “symphonic” concerto in the democratic way in which the soloist and the orchestra pursue their unified intent. Nonetheless, its rather transparent scoring stands in striking contrast to that of Schumann's symphonies themselves, which can tend toward density in their textures. 

The program notes state, “In 1839, before he embarked on composing his only Piano Concerto, Schumann published an essay on the subject of piano concertos in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik,which he had founded five years earlier”: 

[The] separation of the piano from the orchestra is something we have seen coming for some time. Defying the symphony, contemporary piano-playing seeks to dominate by its own means and on its own terms. … This periodical has, from its beginning, reported on just about every new piano concerto that has come along. There can hardly have been more than 16 or 17, a small number in comparison with former days. Thus do times change. What once was regarded as an enrichment of instrumental forms, as an important discovery, is now voluntarily abandoned. … And so we must await the genius who will show us in a newer and more brilliant way how orchestra and piano may be combined, how the soloist, dominant at the keyboard, may unfold the wealth of his instrument and his art, while the orchestra, no longer a mere spectator, may interweave its manifold facets into the scene.

The initial, Allegro affettuoso movement—which is the closest in sensibility to that of Felix Mendelssohn but with a much more pronouncedly Romantic cast—begins dramatically but immediately adopts a reflective mood; the music intensifies before becoming meditative, even lyrical, once again—the development traces a similar, recurrent course of variation from moody inwardness to stirring extroversion, before a climactic cadenza ushers in a rapid, emphatic conclusion. In the ensuing Intermezzo—its tempo is Andante grazioso—Mendelssohnian affinities are also discernible; the music conveys a characteristic, if somewhat restrained, emotionalism that transitions to the greater dynamism of the Allegro vivace finale, which is the most affirmative in tone of the three movements—here one can most clearly detect the influence of Ludwig van Beethoven—and it closes triumphantly. Enthusiastic applause elicited a beautiful encore from the soloist: the Scherzo, marked Allegro energico, of the Sonata for piano No. 3 in F minor of Johannes Brahms. (On the previous day’s concert, he played the Schumann Arabeske in C major, Op. 18.)

The second half of the evening was even more memorable: an amazing account of Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s undervalued and seldom presented Symphony No. 2 in C minor, Op. 17, which received its ultimate revision in 1880. Keller comments:

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov had proclaimed the Second Symphony “a work of genius.” However, Tchaikovsky later came to consider the work to be not so perfect after all, but rather “difficult, noisy, disjointed, and muddleheaded.” In 1879 he set about an extensive rewrite, reporting that he “composed the first movement afresh, leaving only the introduction and the coda in their original form; rescored the second movement; shortened and rescored the third movement; and shortened and rescored the Finale.”

The program notes explain that the “Second Symphony is replete with such Ukrainian folk songs as Down by Mother Volga (played by horn, and then bassoon, in the slow introduction to the first movement), Spin, O My Spinner (as a tune for clarinet and flute in the second movement), and The Crane (the principal theme in the finale)”.

The first movement starts abruptly but then quietly with an Andante sostenuto introduction that builds at length in the Allegro vivo main body to musical passages of a more passionate, even turbulent, character, even as there are more subdued interludes; it finishes very softly. The slow movement that follows—it is marked Andante marziale, quasi moderato—has a more playful ethos although with solemn episodes; it too ends very gently. The succeeding Scherzo—its tempo is Allegro molto vivo—is more energetic with driving rhythms and a charming, ludic Trio section that is recapitulated; it concludes suddenly. The Moderato assai Finale opens grandly and sustains a majestic, somewhat celebratory effect, although with numerous measures in a more low-key register; it closes powerfully and exultantly.

The artists deservedly received a standing ovation.

Chamber Orchestra of Europe Perform Brahms at Carnegie Hall

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Monday, 09 February 2026 17:52

Written by Jack Angstreich

Photo by Jennifer Taylor

At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Tuesday, December 9th, 2025, I had the privilege to attend an excellent concert—presented by Carnegie Hall—of music by Johannes Brahms, featuring the fine Chamber Orchestra of Europe, under the outstanding direction of Yannick Nézet-Séguin. 

The event started brilliantly with a superb and especially dynamic reading of the marvelous Tragic Overture. Soloists Veronika Eberle and Jean-Guihen Queyras then entered the stage for an accomplished account of the undervalued Concerto for Violin and Cello in A Minor, Op. 102, from 1887. The initial Allegro movement begins boldly but, after some challenging writing for the two virtuosi, it swiftly becomes more expansive—the development is unusually complex—and it ends forcefully. The ensuing Andante is largely melodious and lyrical, although with some “rebarbative” moments; it closes gently. The finale, marked Vivace ma non troppo, is energetic with dance-like rhythms and is often charming but with passages of greater intensity; it concludes affirmatively.

The second half of the evening was probably even stronger: a magnificent realization of the extraordinary Symphony No. 1 in C Minor, Op. 68, completed in 1876 after a long genesis. The initial movement begins portentously with an Un poco sostenuto introduction—its much faster main body is highly passionate although with some leisurely interludes, finishing softly. The slow movement it precedes—its tempo is Andante sostenuto—is song-like and enchanting, often with a waltz-like quality—it too ends quietly. The succeeding, Un poco allegretto e grazioso movement is joyful and lively, while the finale has an Adagio introduction that is solemn and suspenseful; its main body begins majestically—much that follows is exultant and exhilarating and it builds to a powerful climax before closing triumphantly.

The artists deservedly received a standing ovation.

New York Philharmonic Go "On the Town" & More at Lincoln Center

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Wednesday, 04 February 2026 14:46

Written by Jack Angstreich

Conductor Gustavo Gimeno & soloist Hélène Grimaud. Photo by Brandon Patoc

At Lincoln Center’s wonderful David Geffen Hall, on the evening of Thursday, December 4th, 2025, I had the privilege to attend a fine concert presented by the New York Philharmonic under the admirable direction of Gustavo Gimeno, in his debut performances with this ensemble. 

The event started promisingly with a pleasurable account of Leonard Bernstein’s delightful, inventively scored Three Dance Episodes from On the Town, his 1944 musical created in collaboration with choreographer Jerome Robbins and librettists Betty Comden and Adolph Green. The composer’s own comment on this suite is as follows: 

The story of On the Town is concerned with three sailors on 24-hour leave in New York, and their adventures with the monstrous city which its inhabitants take so for granted. 

Dance of the Great Lover: Gabey, the romantic sailor in search of the glamorous Miss Turnstiles, falls asleep on the subway and dreams of his prowess in sweeping Miss Turnstiles off her feet. 

Pas de deux: Gabey watches a scene, both tender and sinister, in which a sensitive high school girl in Central Park is lured and then cast off by a worldly sailor. 

Times Square Ballet: A more panoramic sequence in which all the sailors in New York congregate in Times Square for their night of fun. There is communal dancing, a scene in a souvenir arcade, a scene in the Roseland Dance Palace. Cuts have been made in this music of those sections relating directly to the plot action.

An impressive soloist, Hélène Grimaud, then entered the stage to provide an accomplished rendition of George Gershwin’s enjoyable Concerto in F for Piano and Orchestra, from 1925. About it, the composer later said:

Many persons had thought that the Rhapsody was only a happy accident. Well, I went out, for one thing, to show them that there was plenty more where that had come from. I made up my mind to do a piece of absolute music. The Rhapsody, as its title implies, was a blues impression. The concerto would be unrelated to any program. And that is exactly how I wrote it.

Before the work’s premiere, Gershwin offered this description of it in the New York Herald Tribune:

The first movement employs the Charleston rhythm. It is quick and pulsating, representing the young enthusiastic spirit of American life. It begins with a rhythmic motif given out by the kettledrums, supported by other percussion instruments, and with a Charleston motif introduced by … horns, clarinets and violas. The principal theme is announced by the bassoon. Later, a second theme is introduced by the piano. 

The second movement has a poetic nocturnal atmosphere which has come to be referred to as the American blues, but in a purer form than that in which they are usually treated. 

The final movement reverts to the style of the first. It is an orgy of rhythms, starting violently and keeping to the same pace throughout. 

The initial Allegro begins excitingly; with the entry of the piano, the music turns inward if still virtuosic but interrupted periodically by showier measures replete with popular dance rhythms—it ends emphatically. The ensuing slow movement is meditative and lyrical at first and on the whole but then more celebratory, if quietly so; it concludes gently. The finale, marked Allegro agitato, is dynamic and propulsive and ends thrillingly. 

The second half of the evening was even stronger: a satisfying realization of Antonín Dvořak’s marvelous Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95, From the New World, completed in 1893. The first movement’s Adagio introduction is somewhat suspenseful; its Allegro molto main body is stirring and melodious, finishing forcefully. The succeeding, song-like Largo has a quasi-pastoral ethos, although a faster middle section has greater urgency; it ends very softly if joyfully. The third movement, marked Molto vivace, is more turbulent, with driving rhythms and contrasting sections that are more leisurely in pace and evocative of the American West; it closes abruptly. The Allegro con fuoco finale is exhilarating and exultant—there are Wagnerian passages and some more subdued moments—and it builds to a triumphant conclusion.

The artists deservedly received a standing ovation.