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Boston Symphony Orchestra led by Andris Nelsons, Music Director and Conductor with Seong-Jin Cho, Piano. Photo by Chris Lee
At Carnegie Hall’s Stern Auditorium on the evening of Monday, January 29th, I had the pleasure of attending an excellent performance—the first of two on consecutive nights—of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, admirably conducted by Andris Nelsons. The second concert was a presentation of Dmitri Shostakovich’s remarkable opera after a famous story by Nikolai Leskov, Lady Macbeth of Mtensk. (The same narrative was later memorably filmed in Yugoslavia as Siberian Lady Macbeth—released in 1962—by the great Polish director, Andrzej Wajda.)
The program opened promisingly with a marvelous realization of Tania León’s challenging but rewarding Stride from 2019—according to the program note by Robert Kirzinger, it was “composed on a commission from the New York Philharmonic, premiered in 2020, and won the 2021 Pulitzer Prize for Music”—which is notable especially for its compelling orchestration. The composer’s statement on it is worth quoting in full:
When the New York Philharmonic reached out to me about writing for this project celebrating the 19th Amendment, I confess I only knew about it generally. I started doing research, reading Susan B. Anthony’s biography, her statements. It was tremendous to see the inner force that she had. Then I started looking for a title before starting the piece—not the way I usually do it. The word “stride” reflected how I imagined her way of not taking “no” for an answer. She kept pushing and pushing and moving forward, walking with firm steps until she got the whole thing done. That is precisely what I mean by Stride. Stride has some of what, to me, are American musical influences, or at least American musical connotations. For example, there is a section where you can hear the horns with the wa-wa plunger, reminiscent of Louis Armstrong, getting that growl. It doesn’t have to be indicative of any particular skin tone; it has to do with the American spirit. When I discovered American music, Louis Armstrong actually was the first sound that struck me. When I moved here, the only composers I knew anything about were Leonard Bernstein and George Gershwin. The night I arrived at Kennedy Airport, I was picked up by a Cuban couple from the Bronx, who allowed me to stay on their sofa. I looked at the stairs outside of their building, and I started crying “Maria!” They were confused, and I explained that in Cuba I’d heard the song by Leonard Bernstein. I later worked with Bernstein, and we were very close in his later years. When I first arrived here I couldn’t speak English … but I knew how to say “Maria.”
The composer, who attended the event, afterward ascended to the stage to receive the audience’s acclaim.
An amazing soloist, Korean virtuoso Seong-Jin Cho, then joined the musicians for a brilliant rendition of Maurice Ravel’s awesome Piano Concerto for the Left Hand. In a discussion with critic and musicologist M. D. Calvocoressi, the composer affirmed that: “In a work of this sort, it is essential to avoid the impression of insufficient weight in the sound-texture, as compared to a solo part for two hands. So I have used a style that is more in keeping with the consciously imposing style of the traditional concerto.” The piece begins ominously and builds to an apotheosis; the piano then enters dramatically with a cadenza that quickly becomes characteristically Impressionistic in style, a passage that Ravel described as “like an improvisation.” The orchestral interludes in this Lento section attain a considerable grandeur. At its outset, the Allegro that comprises the balance of the work has a quasi-martial ethos reminiscent of music in the early scores of Igor Stravinsky, although before long it is abundantly inflected with jazzy elements with some playful measures. The composer commented that, “Only gradually is one aware that the jazz episode is actually built up from the themes of the first section.” The concerto concludes powerfully, if abruptly. An enthusiastic ovation elicited a dazzling encore which was one of the highlights of the program: Franz Liszt’s exquisite Consolation No. 3 in D-flat Major.
The second half of the evening was comparable in strength, consisting of an accomplished reading of Stravinsky’s magnificent The Rite of Spring, Pictures from Pagan Russia. The first part, The Adoration of the Earth, has a stunning and sudden climax, while the second, The Sacrifice, also closes exhilaratingly. The artists were ardently applauded.
Jakub Hrůša conducts the New York Philharmonic
At Lincoln Center’s David Geffen Hall on Friday, January 12th, I had the privilege of attending a splendid concert—continuing a superb season—presented by the New York Philharmonic, here under the exciting direction of the impressive Czech guest conductor, Jakub Hrůša.
The event began brilliantly with a sterling rendition of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor’s marvelous Ballade for Orchestra. The celebrated soloist Hilary Hahn then entered the stage for a dazzling performance of Sergei Prokofiev’s extraordinary Violin Concerto No. 1, which is the basis for Jerome Robbins’s memorable ballet, Opus 19 / The Dreamer and was one of the only works by the composer admired by his eminent contemporary, Igor Stravinsky. In his useful note for the program, James M. Keller records that:
This concerto traces its origins to a Concertino for Violin that Prokofiev had begun in 1915 but left incomplete. Some material for that earlier work ended up in his first Violin Concerto, which in any case adheres to modest proportions. (It retained its deceptively “early” opus number from the projected Concertino.)
In his “Short Autobiography” of 1941, Prokofiev commented on five dimensions of his style, including the fourth, the lyrical strain in his œuvre, of which he characterized this concerto as representative:
The fourth line is lyrical: it appears first as a thoughtful and meditative mood, not always associated with melody, or at any rate with long melody (“Fairy Tale” in the Four Pieces for Piano Op. 3, Dreams, Autumnal, the songs Op. 9, the “Legend” Op. 12), sometimes partly contained in long melody (the two Balmont choruses, the beginning of the First Violin Concerto, the songs to Akhmatova's poems, Grandmother's Tales). This line was not noticed until much later. For a long time I was given no credit for any lyrical gift whatever, and for want of encouragement it developed slowly. But as time went on I gave more attention to this aspect of my work.
The largely meditative and quirky initial movement has an uncharacteristic prettiness but also a certain solemnity. About the arresting, even more eccentric second movement, the former New York Philharmonic Program Annotator Michael Steinberg, in his book The Concerto, wrote:
a scherzo marked vivacissimo represented the “savage” element as against the generally more lyrical first and third movements. The music, full of contrast, is by turns amusing, naughty, for a while even malevolent, athletic, and always violinistically ingenious and brilliant. It seems to be over in a moment.
The movement is virtuosic, propulsive, fittingly playful, but with abrasive elements. The finale is the most beautiful and song-like of the movements—but with passages of contrasting urgency, although some parts have an almost pastoral or even celestial character—and it ends quietly. Hahn returned to play an exquisite encore: the amazing Andante from Johann Sebastian Bach’s Violin Sonata No. 2 in A minor, BWV 1003, a work which she has recorded.
The second half of the concert was at least equally admirable, consisting of a terrific version of Béla Bartók’s incomparable Concerto for Orchestra. The composer provided the following remarks upon it:
The title of this symphony-like orchestral work is explained by its tendency to treat single orchestral instruments in a concertante or soloistic manner. The “virtuoso” treatment appears, for instance, in the fugato sections of the development of the first movement (brass instruments), or in the perpetuum mobile–like passage of the principal theme in the last movement (strings), and especially in the second movement, in which pairs of instruments consecutively appear with brilliant passages.
He also said:
The general mood of the work represents, apart from the jesting second movement, a gradual transition from the sternness of the first movement and the lugubrious death-song of the third to the life-assertion of the last one.
The introductory movement begins gravely, even ominously, becoming unexpectedly dramatic but with some mysterious interludes and, like the other movements, finishes abruptly. The more unusual second movement—titled Game of Couples—is ludic, even at times jocose, but with some serious elements, closing softly. The suspenseful Elegia that ensues is more uncanny in atmosphere, preceding the enchanting fourth movement which has humorous, almost cartoonish, interruptions. The energetic, ebullient Finale has great forward momentum but with some more subdued interludes; as it approaches its end, the music acquires a ghostly character, then concludes stunningly. The artists deservedly received a very enthusiastic ovation.