The Philadelphia Orchestra Perform Mahler at Carnegie Hall

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Thursday, 12 March 2026 13:32

Written by Jack Angstreich

Photo by Chris Lee

At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Tuesday, March 10th, I had the enormous privilege to attend a magnificent concert—presented by Carnegie Hall—played by the sterling musicians of the Philadelphia Orchestra, under the inspired leadership of Yannick Nézet-Séguin. It consisted of a powerful performance of Gustav Mahler’s monumental Symphony No. 2 in C Minor, the “Resurrection,” which was completed in 1894, and here also featured the extraordinary Philadelphia Symphonic Choir, directed by Joe Miller, along with two incredible soloists, soprano Ying Fang and mezzo-soprano Joyce DiDonato.

The initial, Allegro maestoso movement begins suspensefully, quickly building in intensity but with subdued episodes, and gradually acquiring a more affirmative character at times but with flashes of darkness; the more portentous music of the opening returns, leading to a highly turbulent section that climaxes very forcefully. Again, the thematic material from the introduction recurs along with music of a more æthereal quality. Once more, ominous motifs from the start are recapitulated but the movement then briefly assumes a more positive valence before it finishes abruptly. 

The succeeding Andante moderato has a gentler, waltz-like ethos on the whole, but a sense of greater urgency moves to the fore more than once before it concludes very quietly. The scherzo it precedes is not unexpectedly playful, if with some slightly sinister measures, and has a driving rhythm; more celebratory music intrudes before a much dreamier interlude, after which a dance-like episode ensues, followed by moments of agitation as well as serenity—this movement also closes suddenly. 

The penultimate movement, titled “Urlicht,” is a heavenly, immensely beautiful song, set to a poem from Des Knaben Wunderhorn; it too is over surprisingly fast. The Finale starts with sounds of tumult and then much more irenic music; a muted series of fanfares ushers in a more premonitory sequence before a chorale-like segment that rapidly becomes stirring and then subsides. After this, an extended, very tempestuous episode inaugurates another set of fanfares and then the entry of the chorus singing celestial music—based on a text by Friedrich Klopstock—along with the exalting contribution of the soprano and then too the mezzo-soprano. In quasi-Wagnerian fashion, the movement concludes joyously and transcendently. 

With perfect justice, the artists received a standing ovation.

Academy of St Martin in the Fields Performs at Carnegie Hall

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Wednesday, 11 March 2026 15:06

Written by Jack Angstreich

Photo by Fadi Kheir

At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Thursday, March 5th, I had the privilege to attend an excellent concert of nineteenth-century music—presented by Carnegie Hall—featuring the superb Academy of St Martin in the Fields, under the accomplished leadership of the celebrated virtuoso violinist Joshua Bell—he conducted as the concertmaster, rather than from the podium.

The event started very promisingly with a sterling realization of the remarkable, underappreciated Variations on “America” by Charles Ives, which received its final revision around 1949. It is a piece for organ that was here played in an arrangement by Iain Farrington and, according to the useful notes on the program by Jack Sullivan, it consists “of an introduction, nine variations on ‘America (My Country ‘Tis of Thee),’ and a coda.” He adds: “It is an early work, originally written when he was 17, prepared for a Fourth of July celebration in 1892 at the Methodist church where he was organist in Brewster, New York.”

Bell then confidently performed as soloist in an admirable reading of the outstanding Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 77, by Johannes Brahms, from 1878. The initial, Allegro non troppo movement opens somewhat majestically and then very passionately—this emotional tenor is largely sustained with the entry of the soloist and thereafter but much of his contribution is also highly lyrical. After the cadenza, here composed by Bell, it concludes emphatically. The succeeding Adagio is also song-like but reflects a more serene, sunnier mood; it ends very softly. Thefinale—marked Allegro giocoso, ma non troppo vivace—is exhilarating and energetic, although there are more restrained passages; it closes triumphantly.

The second half of the evening was even more memorable, consisting of a bracing account of Robert Schumann’s splendid Symphony No. 1 in B-flat Major, Op. 38, the “Spring,” from 1841. The composer wrote to a friend in that year, saying: “Think of it! A whole symphony—and moreover, a Spring Symphony!” In a “letter to Wilhelm Taubert, who was to conduct the symphony in 1843, as the annotator records, he commented:

Could you breathe a little of the longing for spring into your orchestra as they play? That was what was most in my mind when I wrote the symphony in January 1841. I should like the very first trumpet entrance to sound as if it came from on high, like a summons to awakening. Further on in the introduction, I would like the music to suggest the world's turning green, perhaps with a butterfly hovering in the air, and then, in the Allegro, to show how everything to do with spring is coming alive. 

He added, “These, however, are ideas that came into my mind only after I had completed the piece.” Sullivan reports, citing Schumann, that “the only premeditated detail was that the finale represented ‘the departure of spring’ and should therefore be performed ‘in a manner not too frivolous.’” 

The first movement begins in a stately fashion—Andante un poco maestoso—but more turbulent music quickly comes to the fore; its main body has a more rousing ethos but with sometimes more “pastoral” elements which are at times quite charming in character—it finishes affirmatively. The ensuing Larghetto radiates a certain nobility that ultimately proves enchanting; it concludes very quietly. The Scherzo—its tempo is Molto vivace—has a joyous, even celebratory quality, with two contrasting Trio sections; it too ends gently. The Allegro animato e grazioso finale is often lilting and dance-like but with some more exuberant measures; at times suspenseful, it closes forcefully. Enthusiastic applause elicited a marvelous encore from the ensemble that was the highlight of the entire concert: the Scherzo from Antonín Dvořák’s Symphony No. 9 in E minor, Op. 95, “From the New World,” from 1893.

Juilliard Orchestra Perform Varèse & More

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Monday, 09 March 2026 15:52

Written by Jack Angstreich

Photo by Paula Lobo, courtesy of Juilliard

At Carnegie Hall’s wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the night of Wednesday, February 11th, I had the privilege to attend an excellent concert of modernist works presented by the precocious musicians of the splendid Juilliard Orchestra, under the distinguished direction of David Robertson.

The event started impressively, with a remarkable account of Edgard Varèse’s seldom played, arresting Amériques, from 1927, a work that defies easy description. The composer said that he aimed at the “liberation of sound—to throw open the whole world of sound to music.” In useful notes on the program, composer Elizabeth Younan, who is a C.V. Starr Doctoral Fellow at Juilliard, said:

Varèse had witnessed the notorious premiere of The Rite of Spring in Paris and studied in Berlin with Ferruccio Busoni, absorbing the revolutionary ideas of early 20th-century music. At the same time, echoes of French Impressionism are present: The opening alto flute melody recalls Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune, a motif that continually appears throughout the opening of the work. 

The piece originally required 140 musicians; the expanded percussion section plays a central role.

The second half of the event was also remarkable, beginning with an admirable realization of the also challenging, but rewarding and engaging, Five Pieces for Orchestra, Op. 16, by Arnold Schoenberg, from 1909. Charles Rosen, in his absorbing monograph on the composer Arnold Schoenberg, writes on it illuminatingly:

In this work, Schoenberg's debt to Mahler is immediately apparent; like Mahler he calls only at moments for the entire force of the very large orchestra necessary for the work and generally uses small groups of solo instruments. This makes a kind of chamber-music sound in which the combinations of instruments are continually shifting [ . . . . ] Each phrase can be given an entirely new instrumental color, and is consequently characterized less by its harmonic content than by the instrumental combination that embodies it. 

This emancipation of tone color was as significant and as characteristic of the first decades of the twentieth century as the emancipation of dissonance. Tone color was released from its complete subordination to pitch in musical structure: until this point what note was played had been far more important than the instrumental color or the dynamics with which it was played. The principal element of music was conceived to be pitch. (This was at least the theoretical position, even if, in practice, other elements were to have had in reality greater weight at rare moments.) 

The third of Schoenberg's Five Pieces for Orchestra, called “Chord Colors,” was later retitled more fancifully “Summer Morning by a Lake.” It begins with a single soft chord triple pianissimo that changes instrumental color as its notes are transferred from one instrument to another, with the exits and entrances overlapping. The changes are directed to be played with great subtlety: we should not, in fact, be aware of the individual instruments as they enter but only of the gradual changes of sonority. The orchestration of the first chord changes imperceptibly from a grouping of flutes (low register), clarinets, bassoon, and viola solo to an entirely new color of English horn, bassoon, horns, trumpets (low register), and double-bass solo in a high register. The harmony changes, also slowly and imperceptibly, as the piece proceeds, and new, short motifs play themselves out against this slow-moving background. 

The initial movement, entitled Premonitions, is propulsive and concludes very abruptly, while the second, Yesteryears, is seemingly more inward in perspective, with some dreamy moments—it closes with some suddenness. The ensuing Colors is also meditative, and Peripetia, which follows, is more agitated. The last movement, The Obligatory Recitative, is expressive of anxiety possibly, or even pessimism.

The concert concluded exhilaratingly with a marvelous version of Igor Stravinsky’s magnificent ballet score, The Rite of Spring, from 1913. The Encyclopaedia Britannica provides some interesting commentary on it:

The piece was commissioned by the noted impresario of the Ballets Russes, Serge Diaghilev, who earlier had produced the young composer’s The Firebird (1910) and Petrushka (1911). Stravinsky developed the story of The Rite of Spring, originally to be called The Great Sacrifice, with the aid of artist and mystic Nicholas Roerich, whose name appears with the composer’s on the title page of the earliest publications of the score. The production was choreographed by Vaslav Nijinsky, and its sets and costumes were designed by Roerich.

Like Stravinsky’s earlier works for the Ballet Russes, The Rite of Spring was inspired by Russian culture, but, unlike them, it challenged the audience with its chaotic percussive momentum.

The first part of the composition, The Adoration of the Earth, has an astonishing and unexpected climax, while the second, The Sacrifice, also ends thrillingly.

The artists deservedly received a standing ovation.