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Photo by Chris Lee.
At the remarkable Stern Auditorium, on the afternoon of Sunday, March 2nd, I had the considerable pleasure to attend another superb concert presented by Carnegie Hall—the last of three on consecutive days—featuring the exceptional musicians of the Vienna Philharmonic under the outstanding direction of the inestimable Riccardo Muti.
The event started brilliantly with a masterly realization of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s awesome Symphony No. 41 in C Major, K. 551, the “Jupiter,” from 1788. The initial, Allegro vivace movement—here is one place where the composer’s music is close to that of Ludwig van Beethoven—is stirring but with a somewhat solemn cast; ultimately affirmative, even quietly celebratory, it contains a dazzling, fugue-like section. Despite its consummate grace and almost pastoral passages, some of the ensuing Andante cantabile has a tragic ethos; it ends softly. The Menuetto, marked Allegretto, has an ebullient quality but with dramatic touches as well as moments of great charm, especially in the enchanting Trio. The Molto allegro finale is propulsive, even exhilarating, but with subdued episodes; the complexity of its fugal structure is simply astonishing. The movement closes regally.
The second half of the program was maybe even more memorable: a sterling account of Antonín Dvořák’s magnificent, melodious Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 95, “From the New World,” from 1893. The first movement’s Adagio introduction is at first gentle and then portentous; its Allegro molto main body, for all its turbulence and lyricism, is sweeping in its expansiveness and it finishes powerfully. The song-like Largo that follows—its primary theme came to be the basis of the Negro spiritual, “Goin’ Home”—has a hushed atmosphere but becomes more animated with a more urgent interlude; it ends ethereally.
The succeeding Scherzo, marked Molto vivace, is exciting and dynamic but with elements of mystery, and it has much forward momentum but also contrasting, leisurely measures as well as a certain joyousness for much of its length; it ends emphatically. The Allegro con fuoco finale which is exultant and forceful, but inward and tentative at times, sustains a great intensity; after a triumphant climax, it ends serenely. Deservedly enthusiastic applause was rewarded by a fabulous encore: the delightful Overture to the operetta, The Gypsy Baron by Johann Strauss, Jr.
Photo by Chris Lee
At the outstanding Stern Auditorium on the night of Saturday, March 1st, I had the great pleasure to attend another exceptionally strong concert—the second of three on consecutive days—presented by Carnegie Hall and featuring the extraordinary Vienna Philharmonic under the incomparable direction of the renowned Riccardo Muti.
The event started brilliantly with a marvelous rendition of Alfredo Catalani’s very seldom performed but exquisite Contemplazione from 1878. (The composer is most famous for his opera, La Wally.) Equally fine was a splendid account of Igor Stravinsky’s fabulous Divertimento from his ballet, The Fairy’s Kiss, which is based on songs and piano pieces by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky and is a setting of the Hans Christian Anderson tale, The Ice Maiden. In his useful notes on the program, Jack Sullivan says the following about the piece: “Commissioned by Ida Rubinstein to mark the 35th anniversary of Tchaikovsky’s death, it premiered in 1928, with choreography byBronislava Nijinska, the younger sister of Vaslav Nijinsky.” About Stravinsky, he adds:
His admiration for Tchaikovsky, whose works he conducted, went back many years; he accepted the offer to compose Le baiser de la fée because “it would give me an opportunity of paying my heartfelt homage to Tchaikovsky’s wonderful talent.”
He goes on to provide some relevant background:
In The Ice Maiden, a child is stolen by sprites during a storm and marked by a fairy with a kiss; years later, she returns in disguise and tricks him into declaring his love for her as he is celebrating his upcoming wedding, then kisses him again and takes him away to her world “beyond time and place.” Stravinsky transformed this story of supernatural kidnapping into a fable about art in which the fairy becomes the artist’s muse: “It suggested an allegory of Tchaikovsky himself,” Stravinsky said. “The fairy’s kiss on the heel of the child is also the muse marking Tchaikovsky at his birth, although the muse did not claim Tchaikovsky at his wedding as she did the young man in the ballet, but rather at the height of his powers.” The fairy’s “mysterious imprint manifests itself in every work of this great artist.”
And further:
In 1934, Stravinskycreated a concert suite (first for violin and piano, then for orchestra) that he called Divertimento, consisting of highlights from the score. Some conductors prefer to create their own version from the various ballet numbers. This concert uses a 1949 revision of the suite.
The initial Sinfonia movement contains many both dramatic and playful elements but also lyrical moments, and the ensuing Danses suisses are exhilarating, even dizzying at times, as well as jubilant. The eccentric if ultimately enchanting Scherzo is ludic too but with passages of almost pure Romanticism and, of all the movements, it has possibly the most pronouncedly fairytale atmosphere, while the concluding, charming Pas de deux is maybe the most forceful—it quotes from Tchaikovsky’s magnificent song, “None but the Lonely Heart.”
The second half of the evening was also terrific: a memorable realization of Franz Schubert’s awesome Symphony in C Major, D. 944, the “Great,” which was completed in 1828. (Felix Mendelssohn conducted its premiere at the Leipzig Gewandhaus in 1839.) About it, Robert Schumann said, “Something beyond sorrow and joy, as these emotions have been portrayed a hundred times in music, lies concealed in this symphony … We are transported to a region where we can never remember to have been before.” The musicologist Alfred Einstein wrote of it: “How direct and simple everything is.” Sullivan records:
An analysis of the work, writes Schumann, is impossible: “One would necessarily have to transcribe the entire symphony to give the faintest notion of its intense originality throughout.”
And he adds that Antonin Dvořák, who found it “astounding” in its “richness and variety of coloring,” criticized it, curiously, for the “the fault of diffuseness”; however, Schumann referred to the symphony’s “heavenly length.”
The initial movement’s Andante introduction begins with a quiet but stirring fanfare that inaugurates a graceful sequence that slowly increases in power; the transition to the main Allegro ma non troppo section is described as “wholly new” by Schumann who explained, “We are landed; we know not how.” The thoroughly captivating and ebullient music that follows—it uncannily anticipates the Mendelssohn of the “Italian” Symphony—has a few solemn measures; the movement finishes grandly.
The second movement, marked Andante con moto, has enchanting rhythms too; a slower, more song-like section has an almost religious character—near the end of this, according to Schumann, “a horn call sounds from a distance that seems to have descended from another world. And every other instrument seems to listen, as if some heavenly messenger were hovering through the orchestra.” After a climax, the music again ascends to a more elevated register; the movement closes softly.
The succeeding Scherzo—its tempo is Allegro vivace—whichstrongly recalls the music of Ludwig van Beethoven, has a joyous, pastoral ethos; the Trio section is also exalting and affirmative. The Allegro vivace finale is exuberant, dynamic and propulsive at times, but with gentler interludes; ultimately exultant, it concludes triumphantly. About it, Sullivan reports:
Conductor Felix Weingartner once wrote that this “intoxicating” music evoked in him “the effect as of flight through ether … Nature has denied us this joy, but great works of art give it to us.”
The artists deservedly were enthusiastically applauded.
Photo by Chris Lee
At the extraordinary Stern Auditorium, on the night of Friday, February 28th, I had the pleasure to attend a superb concert presented by Carnegie Hall, the first of three on consecutive days featuring the stellar Vienna Philharmonic under the incomparable direction of Riccardo Muti, one of the greatest living conductors.
The event started auspiciously with an admirable account of Franz Schubert’s excellent Symphony No. 4 in C Minor, D. 417, the “Tragic,” from 1816. In interesting notes on the program by Jack Sullivan, he records some useful background:
One of the earliest defenders of the symphony in America was H. L. Mencken, whose eloquent 1928 article in The American Mercury perceived—at least in the slow movement—the work’s “tragic” qualities: “Of Schubert’s symphonies, the orchestras play the ‘Unfinished’ incessantly—but never too often!—and the huge C Major now and then, but the ‘Tragic’ only once in a blue moon. Yet the ‘Tragic’ remains one of Schubert’s masterworks, and in its slow movement, at least, it rides to the full height of the ‘Unfinished.’ There are not six such slow movements in the whole range of music. It has an eloquence that has never been surpassed, not even by Beethoven, but there is no rhetoric in it, no heroics, no exhibitionism. It begins quietly and simply, and it passes out in a whisper, but its beauty remains overwhelming.”
The initial movement’s Adagio molto introduction is solemn and strongly recalls the music of the composer’s great and inescapable precursor, Ludwig van Beethoven, while its Allegro vivace main body is graceful and much more energetic, although its ethos is on balance more serious than ebullient. The ensuing Andante is somewhat gentler and more Mozartean in spirit—it acquires a quiet urgency at times and is not without dramatic moments. The Menuetto that follows, marked Allegro vivace, has the vigor of a scherzo but it also contains a more subdued Trio section. The propulsive, Allegro finale has a suspenseful quality although it is also surprisingly playful, building to an affirmative conclusion.
The second half of the evening was even more remarkable: a fully assured realization of Anton Bruckner’s magnificent Symphony No. 7 in E Major, completed in 1883. The Allegro moderato first movement opens softly but majestically; bucolic passages lead to bolder orchestral statements—much of it is very Wagnerian—and it finishes celestially. The succeeding Adagio, which is possibly the most beautiful movement that Bruckner ever composed, is elegiac but transcendent; it too reaches an unearthly close. The Scherzo, which is not without its eccentricities, is forceful with dance-like interludes and considerable forward momentum and ends abruptly; the movement’s Trio is altogether more itenic in character. The Finale is somewhat hushed at its outset but the music rapidly intensifies, although more serene episodes alternate with more passionate ones; it attains a glorious climax.
The artists, deservedly, were enthusiastically applauded.