New York Philharmonic Premiere New Nico Muhly Concerto

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Parent Category: Film and the Arts

Category: Reviews

Published on Tuesday, 18 March 2025 14:58

Written by Jack Angstreich

Marin Alsop conducts the New York Philharmonic. Photo by Brandon Patoc

At Lincoln Center’s excellent David Geffen Hall on the night of Saturday, March 8th, I had the pleasure to attend a superb concert featuring the New York Philharmonic under the estimable direction of the eminent conductor, Marin Alsop. 

The event started enjoyably with a creditable account of Ludwig van Beethoven’s classic Leonore Overture No. 3, Op. 72b, from 1806. The opening Adagio section is tentative in character but the middle Allegro part is stirring and exhilarating although with some more subdued passages; the closing Presto component is exuberant and propulsive, ending forcefully. 

The impressive soloist Renaud Capuçon then entered the stage for a striking rendition of Nico Muhly’s remarkable Violin Concerto, which was commissioned by Paul J. Sekhri and this ensemble and received its world premiere with these performances. Muhly is justly celebrated for his score Cascades—for choreographer Justin Peck’s wonderful ballet Rotunda—as well as his powerful and memorable, acclaimed Metropolitan Opera commission, Two Boys. About the new piece, Muhly has said:

I know what I've done, and I know what I haven't done. You have these seeds that you've planted for yourself and little gifts that you've given yourself through all your previous experience. Writing this, I felt like I was in a good relationship with what I've done before and things that I'm interested in doing in the future.

He also provided this comment on it:

The fundamental question of a concerto is: what is the relationship between this one person and a bunch of other people? There's a built-in narrative to it, if you want it or not. There's a piece of theater present in any concert, but in a concerto there's this additional one-versus-many element. Composers have to have an answer for what that relationship is. This year, I knew I was writing four concerti back-to-back. All of them involve different relationships between soloist and ensemble. In this particular one, I leaned into a more traditional relationship, but the concerto goes in and out of the violin leading the orchestra, the orchestra leading the violin, and then a more combative relationship, which you see in the first movement. 

You have this one person in the center, and then there's a conductor, and then there are the principal players in the strings, and then there's this radiating out of sound. There are actually a jillion violins on stage, and suddenly having the ear and the eye drawn toward the extreme edge of the stage has a certain power to it. The back of a violin section has a lot of sonic potential: it's the person farthest away from the soloist, but it's the same instrument, so it has an almost electronic effect, where it's like a distant echo. It's also kind of fun. I don't want to say it's an inside joke, but when do you get to play a solo if you're sitting at the back — It's like a fun little Easter egg.

The concerto begins somewhat mysteriously but it engagingly if slowly intensifies in rhythm and ends abruptly. The work seems to reflect the influence of minimalism, especially as practiced by composers like Philip Glass and John Adams.

The second half of the evening was even more compelling, starting with a delightful version of Johannes Brahms’s extraordinary Variations on a Theme by Haydn, Op. 56a, from 1873. The initial, Andante Chorale St. Antoni is pleasurable while the first Variation, marked Poco più animato, is fugue-like and the second (Più vivace), dynamic. The enchanting third, Con moto Variation is followed by the solemn, Andante con moto fourth and the ebullient, Vivace fifth. The stately, march-like but jubilant, sixth Variation—also with a Vivace tempo—precedes the elegant, charming, Grazioso seventh and the captivating, Presto non troppo eighth, while the Andante Finale is ultimately triumphant.

The concert’s conclusion was its pinnacle: a ravishing realization of Igor Stravinsky’s magnificent Suite from his famous ballet, The Firebird, presented in its 1919 version. In his useful notes on the program, James M. Keller—former New York Philharmonic Program Annotator; San Francisco Symphony program annotator; and author of Chamber Music: A Listener's Guide—offered this summary of the work’s scenario:

The tale involves the dashing Prince Ivan (Ivan Tsarevich), who finds himself wandering through the garden of the evil King Kashchei, whose power resides in a magic egg that he guards in an elegant box. In Kashchei's garden, the Prince captures a Firebird, which pleads for its life. The Prince agrees to spare it if it gives him one of its magic tail feathers, and it agrees. Thus armed, the Prince continues through his evening and happens upon 13 enchanted princesses. The most beautiful of them catches his eye, and (acting under Kashchei's spell) lures him to a spot where Kashchei's demonic guards can ensnare him. Before he can be put under a spell himself, the Prince uses the feather to summon the Firebird, which reveals to him the secret of the magic egg. The Prince locates and smashes the egg, then goes off to marry the newly liberated Princess, with whom, of course, he will live happily ever after.

The first movement—The Firebird and Its Dance; Variation of the Firebird—opens uncannily with an almost sinister ethos; a lyrical theme ushers in the appearance of the dazzling Firebird. The bewitching second movement—The Princesses' Round-Dance (Khorovod)—is succeeded by the startling, mesmerizing, extravagant Infernal Dance of King Kashchei. The ensuing, haunting, exquisite Lullaby is some of the most beautiful music ever composed, while the stunning Finale builds to a blaze of glory.

The artists, deservedly, were enthusiastically applauded.

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