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Photo by Chris Lee
At Lincoln Center’s wonderful David Geffen Hall, on the afternoon of Sunday, November 16th, 2025, I had the privilege to attend a splendid concert presented by the New York Philharmonic under the sterling direction of David Robertson.
The event started auspiciously with one of the world premiere performances of Caroline Mallonnee’s arresting, remarkably orchestrated Lakeside Game—which was commissioned by this ensemble (as part of Project 19) along with the Ann Arbor Symphony Orchestra, the Johnstown Symphony Orchestra, and the Bravo! Vail Music Festival—here admirably rendered. The composer has said the following about the work:
The piece was inspired by childhood memories of walks along the shore of Lake Michigan in Door County, Wisconsin. While not meant to be a literal illustration, Lakeside Game evokes a summer day during which children play on a rocky beach, skip stones, and chase one another. One can imagine the water, dappled with sunlight and always changing.
She was present to receive the audience’s acclaim.
An extraordinary soloist, Nicola Benedetti, then joined the musicians for a dazzling account of the exciting Concerto in D for Violin and Orchestra composed in 2015 by her husband, the celebrated jazz artist Wynton Marsalis. I here reproduce his comments on the work:
This piece was written for Nicola Benedetti. It takes inspiration from her life as a traveling performer and educator who enlightens and delights communities all over the world with the magic of virtuosity. Scored for symphony orchestra, with tremendous respect for the demands of that instrument, it is nonetheless written from the perspective of a jazz musician and New Orleans bluesman. We believe that all human beings are connected in the essential fundamentals of life: birth, death, love, and laughter; that our most profound individual experiences are also universal (especially pain); and acknowledging the depth of that pain in the context of a groove is a powerful first step towards healing.
Nicky asked me to “invite a diverse world of people into the experience of this piece. Because finding and nurturing common musical ground between differing arts and musical styles has been a lifetime fascination of mine, I was already trying to welcome them. It may seem simple enough, but bringing different perspectives together is never easy. The shared vocabulary between the jazz orchestra and the modern orchestra sits largely in the areas of texture and instrumental technique. Form, improvisation, harmony, and methods of thematic development are very different. The biggest challenges are: how to orchestrate the nuance and virtuosity in jazz and blues for an ensemble not versed in those styles (a technical issue); and how to create a consistent groove without a rhythm section (a musical / philosophical issue).
Because modern living is an integrated experience, it is never difficult to discover organic connections. Turning those insights into something meaningful and playable, however, is another story. It has to be lived and digested. That's why I looked for real-life examples in the history of jazz–symphonic collaborations and to the environment and experience that connect Nicky and me. I considered aspects of her Scottish ancestry, the great Afro-American abolitionist Frederick Douglass's love of legendary Scottish poet Robert Burns, my love and inextinguishable respect for Scottish baritone saxophonist Joe Temperley (and his gleeful recitation of pungent limericks), and the luminous but obscure achievements of Afro-American keyed bugler Francis Johnson, father of the American cornet tradition and one of the first published American composers … who was also a fine fiddler. These sources led me to reconnect with the Anglo-Celtic roots of Afro-American music.
The piece opens with Nicky whispering a solo note before the orchestra enters, as if to say, “And so it came to pass” or “Once upon a time.” Then we are into a form constructed in fours — as in the four corners of the earth, where her travels take her. Each of the four movements, Rhapsody, Rondo Burlesque, Blues, and Hootenanny, reveals a different aspect of her dream, which becomes reality through the public storytelling that is virtuosic performance.
Movement 1, Rhapsody, is a complex dream that becomes a nightmare, progresses into peacefulness and dissolves into ancestral memory.
Movement 2, Rondo Burlesque, is a syncopated, New Orleans jazz, calliope, circus clown, African gumbo, Mardi Gras party in odd meters.
Movement 3, Blues, is the progression of flirtation, courtship, intimacy, sermonizing, final loss, and abject loneliness that is out there to claim us all.
Movement 4, Hootenanny, is a raucous, stomping and whimsical barnyard throw-down. She excites us with all types of virtuosic chicanery and gets us intoxicated with revelry and then … goes on down the Good King's highway to other places yet to be seen or even foretold. As in the blues and jazz tradition, our journey ends with the jubilance and uplift of an optimistic conclusion.
The initial movement, which opens very quietly and lyrically, is kaleidoscopic in its range of moods and styles and the same can be said of the whole; it ends softly and unexpectedly. The next movement, which begins energetically, even agitatedly, is also often rambunctious—it features an elaborate cadenza with a percussion accompaniment. The third movement is more subdued at the outset and strongly recalls the music of George Gershwin. The finale delightfully evokes a country square dance, ending very gently with the violinist exiting the stage. Enthusiastic applause elicited a wonderful encore from Benedetti: an arrangement of “Auld Lang Syne” by Robert Burns who, she explained, was from the same county in Scotland as she is.
The second half of the program was maybe even more memorable: a superb realization of Igor Stravinsky’s magnificent 1911 version of his ballet score, Petrushka, with Eric Huebner as pianist. The composer discussed the work’s genesis as follows:
I had in my mind a distinct picture of a puppet, suddenly endowed with life, exasperating the patience of the orchestra with diabolical cascades of arpeggi. The orchestra in turn retaliates with menacing trumpet-blasts. The outcome is a terrific noise which reaches its climax and ends in the sorrowful and querulous collapse of the poor puppet. … One day Ieapt for joy. I had indeed found my title — Petrushka, the immortal and unhappy hero of every fair in all countries.
The ensemble was duly rewarded with a standing ovation.
Photo by Claudio Papapietro, courtesy of Juilliard
At Lincoln Center’s superb Alice Tully Hall, on the night of Monday, February 10th, 2025, I was privileged to attend a sterling Juilliard Orchestra concert that was admirably led by the exciting young conductor Ruth Reinhardt.
The event started very promisingly with an accomplished realization of South Korean composer Unsuk Chin’s compelling subito con forza from 2020, a reworking of motifs from Ludwig van Beethoven written, according to annotator Carys Sutherland, “for the 250th anniversary of his birth,” although this piece recalls the music of Béla Bartók and the early Igor Stravinsky. Chin, who was a student of György Ligeti, has said about Beethoven’s work that “what particularly appeals to me are the enormous contrasts: from volcanic eruptions to extreme serenity.”
An impressive and precocious soloist, Gaeun Kim—she wore a beautiful turquoise gown—then entered the stage for a remarkable performance of Bohuslav Martinů’s underrated and seldom played Cello Concerto No. 1, H. 196, from 1955. The initial, Allegro moderato movement opens ebulliently with dance-like rhythms, although more reflective as well as lyrical interludes ensue; it ends unexpectedly and affirmatively. The slow movement that follows, marked Andante con poco, which contains some of the most exquisite music in the piece, has an elegiac quality but with moments of urgency; it closes quietly. The energetic, Allegro finale has song-like, plaintive passages and concludes spiritedly.
The second half of the evening was likely even more memorable: an enthralling account of Johannes Brahms’s magnificent Symphony No. 1 in C Minor, Op. 68, from 1876. The Un poco sostentutointroduction to the first movement is solemn, even portentous, preceding its dynamic, Allegro main body that finishes softly. The succeeding Andante sostenuto is passionate and melodious, with episodes of an almost celestial quality; it ends gently. The enchanting, even effervescent, scherzo, marked Un poco allegretto e grazioso, at times has an almost pastoral character, while its close is subdued. The finale has a grave, Adagio introduction to the joyous, tuneful main body of the movement, with a tempo of Allegro non troppo, ma con brio; it builds to a triumphant conclusion.
The artists were deservedly, enthusiastically applauded.
Photo by Chris Lee
At Lincoln Center’s excellent David Geffen Hall, on the evening of Thursday, December 12th, I had the exceptional pleasure to attend a superior presentation—continuing a strong season—of Georg Friedrich Händel’s enormously popular oratorio, Messiah, performed by the New York Philharmonic—impressively led by conductor and harpsichordist Ton Koopman—along with the outstanding Musica Sacra chorus under the direction of the eminent Kent Tritle, who was also the organist. A remarkable slate of soloists—all debuting with this ensemble—included above all the marvelous soprano Maya Kherani, who wore a fabulous green and silver gown. Also wonderful was tenor Kieran White, while countertenor Maarten Engeltjes was admirable. As is often the case with a bass-baritone, Klaus Mertens was especially strong in his higher register. (Cellist Matthew Christakos was a featured player.)
In his useful notes for the program, James M. Keller provided some background on the work:
Early in the summer of 1741, Charles Jennens had assembled a libretto that drew creatively on Biblical passages from the Books of Isaiah, Haggai, Malachi, Matthew, Luke, Zechariah, John, Job, Psalms, Lamentations, Hebrews, Romans, I Corinthians, and Revelation to create a loose story comprising narrative and reflections about the life of Jesus. This he organized in three discrete sections: the first relating to the prophecy of Christ's coming and the circumstances of his birth; the second to the vicissitudes of his life on Earth; and the third to events surrounding the Resurrection and the promise of redemption. Handel leapt into action on August 22. He finished the draft of Part One on August 28, of Part Two on September 6, and of Part Three on September 12 — and then he took another two days to polish details on the whole score. That so great — and large — a masterpiece as Messiah should have been created in so brief a span as three weeks seems all but incredible to most of us. In fact, this prodigious pace was not exceptional for Handel, and it is no more than romantic fantasy to view it (as it once was routinely) as a fever of divine inspiration peculiar to the composition of Messiah. In fact, he allowed himself about a week's rest after finishing Messiah before embarking on his next oratorio, Samson, which he wrote in the relatively leisurely span of five weeks.
In Part I of the oratorio, the extraordinary Sinfonia (Overture) has a stately introduction and then becomes livelier. The tenor was showcased to memorable effect in the ensuing Accompagnato, “Comfort ye my people” and the immediately following Air, “Ev’ry valley shall be exalted,” but the excitement increased with the first Chorus, “And the glory of the Lord” and another shortly afterward, “And He shall purify.” One of the finest of these is the famous “For unto us a child is born” which immediately precedes a very compelling—despite its apparent modesty—instrumental interlude, Pifa (“Pastoral Symphony).
In the second Part, the initial Chorus, “Behold the Lamb of God,” is one of the most remarkable if one of the least ostentatious, and further on, another two, “He trusted in God” and “Let all the angels” are notable for their fugue-like complexity. The subsequent Air for soprano, “How beautiful are the feet of them,” is one of the loveliest in the work. This section concludes with the magnificent Hallelujah Chorus.
The final Part begins with another exquisite Air for soprano, “I know that my Redeemer liveth; a later one for the bass-baritone, “The trumpet shall sound, prominently features that instrument, here expertly played by Raymond Riccomini. The last Air, “If God be for us” for the soprano, is also terrific, ushering in the two ultimate Choruses, “Worthy is the Lamb” and “Amen,” which provide a stunning close.
With perfect justice, the artists were enthusiastically applauded.
Photo by Chris Lee
At Lincoln Center’s David Geffen Hall, on the night of Monday, October 16th, I had the exceptional pleasure to attend a magnificent concert presented by the outstanding musicians of Madrid’s Orchestra of the Teatro Real under the brilliant direction of Juanjo Mena.
The evening began dazzlingly with a stunning account of Alberto Ginastera’s fabulous Panambi Suite. The opening movement—titled “Moonlight on the Paranã”—is shimmering and evocative while the ensuing “Invocation of the Powerful Spirits” is propulsive and dramatic. The third movement, “Lament of the Maidens,” is lyrical and reminiscent of Igor Stravinsky’s The Firebird while the rhythms of the finalerecall those of his The Rite of Spring.
The admirable soloist, Pablo Ferrández, prizewinner at the International Tchaikovsky Competition, then joined the artists for an extraordinary performance of Antonín Dvořák’s exquisite Cello Concerto. The initial Allegro is melodious, Romantic and song-like but with turbulent passages; the slow movement that follows, marked Adagio ma non troppo, is comparably expressive but meditative and more somber in mood while the Allegro moderato finale is more celebratory—but not without emotional intensity—and ends triumphantly. Abundant applause drew forth a wonderful encore from the cellist: "El cant dels ocells" a traditional Catalan song famously played by Pablo Casals.
The second half of the event was also astonishing, starting with a marvelous realization of the 1915 version of Manuel de Falla’s glorious ballet score, El amor brujo, featuring the flamenco dancer and singer, Esperanza Fernández from Seville. The program proper concluded fantastically with a superb rendition of Maurice Ravel’s incredible Daphnis et Chloé, Suites No. 1 and 2 which, although an epitome of so-called musical “Impressionism,” is arguably also neo-Romantic in inspiration. The first Suite begins with the mysterious “Nocturne” and after the “Interlude” closes with the thrilling “Danse guerrière”; the second Suite opens with the enchanting and ethereal “Lever de jour” and following the “Pantomime” finishes with the exciting and amazingly dynamic “Danse générale.” A standing ovation was rewarded with two delightful encores: first, the gorgeous “Intermezzo” from the opera Goyescas by Enrique Granados and, second, the charming Prelude to the zarzuela, El bateo, by Federico Chueca.




