Juilliard Orchestra Perform Valerie Coleman and More at Lincoln Center
- Details
- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Friday, 23 October 2026 12:58
- Written by Jack Angstreich
At Lincoln Center’s wonderful Alice Tully Hall, on the night of Monday, October 19th, I had the exceptional pleasure to attend a superb concert presented by the extraordinary Juilliard Orchestra, under the accomplished direction of Jeffrey Milarsky.
The event started splendidly with an admirable account of Sergei Prokofiev’s excellent Piano Concerto No. 3 in C Major, Op. 26, from 1921, astonishingly played by the remarkable soloist, Maxim Lando. The brief, Andante introduction to the initial movement has a forlorn quality but this is quickly displaced by the often breathless, Allegro main body which also features more leisurely passages, sometimes of a playful character but at other times soulful and lyrical, even mysterious. The movement showcases some dazzling pianism which becomes forceful and impassioned toward the finish—it concludes abruptly and emphatically. The ensuing Andantino too has ludic elements that contrast with episodes of much greater seriousness—these are sometimes highly dramatic when not rather subdued. Its closing section is propulsive and exciting but, again, with slower, more charming or plaintive interludes. The finale—marked Allegro, ma non troppo—projects a certain boisterousness or tempestuousness that is punctuated by more song-like or reflective moments as well as more quirky measures; it reaches a more emotional and weighty climax, ending suddenly.
Also impressive was the next work on the program, Valerie Coleman’s compelling Renaissance Concerto for Orchestra, from 2024, a tone poem that is “a response to painter Jacob Lawrence’s War Series and Migration Series.”Its first movement is striking, at times enchanting—it builds to an arresting, indeed powerful, conclusion. Here I reproduce the composer’s note on the second and third movements:
A film noir sky view of a metropolitan
city opens the curtains of the second
movement in grandiose flair, with fire
engines and police cars screaming by
as they race across the city to put
out fires. The riots (Panels 50 and 51
of the Migration Series) that occurred
throughout the Midwest and the
North (riot of East St. Louis, Tulsa
massacre, and the red summer of 1919
in Philadelphia) are depicted here, as
the flames turn into the smoldering
embers of a tuba solo. Solo violin (and
subsequently the section) takes over,
singing the heart of this movement: a
ballad of urban life, with all the joys and
pain that come with it.
The final movement, Cotton Club Juba,
emerges out of the second movement’s
ending with raindrops as the scene
shifts to a misty evening in Harlem and
the nightlife of big bands and clubs
during the Prohibition Era. The movies
often depict this time as a dance-filled
escapism, but I wanted to capture the
gritty reality of the “exoticism” and
stereotype of “jungle music” that took
hold both in Harlem and “Le Jazz Hot”
cabaret of Paris. There is no artwork for
this from Jacob Lawrence, but I hope
that the audience can visualize jazz big
bands, Duke Ellington, Josephine Baker,
and many others who found release
through dance and song within this era.
(There’s) a slow sinister groove between
the bassoons and horns as if we are
riding the railways across the country.
Arriving at the eastern seaboard, we
are immersed into the dancing nightlife
of mafia, illegal alcohol, showgirls,
zoot suit fashion, and the underbelly
of Broadway afterhours. Small clusters
of Charleston dance rhythm appear,
made popular by expats Josephine
Baker and Ada "Bricktop" Smith, who
gave dance lessons to the Parisian
elite, alternating with slower sections
dedicated to the storied writers of the
era, Langston Hughes, Zora Neale
Hurston, and Ernest Hemingway. From
the wailing sounds of the start, all the
way to the rip-roaring dancing of the
early 20th century, it is my hope that
(Renaissance) Concerto for Orchestra connects us all through story and song.
Coleman was present to receive the audience’s acclaim.
The second half of the evening was even more memorable, consisting of a marvelous rendition of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s magnificent Symphonic Dances, Op. 45, from 1940. The first movement begins somewhat suspensefully and a sense of tension is sustained throughout most of it—this is interrupted by an extended, poignant, even melancholy saxophone solo which is answered by lovely, even sadder music in the strings before, ultimately, a recapitulation of the opening march material that leads to a less urgent dénouement and a much softer close. The Andante con moto that follows is not without some uncanniness at the outset, but it becomes a bewitching waltz with some ironic inflections—the music eventually accelerates to an almost frantic pace, finishing more gently. After a more restrained, Lento assai, introductory section, the spirited, main body, marked Allegro vivace, is dynamic and brisk in rhythm at times, but with some rather passionate music strongly contrasting in tempo and mood—it ends thrillingly, almost shockingly.
Deservedly, the artists were enthusiastically applauded.