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Film and the Arts
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.
London Symphony Orchestra Perform William Walton at Carnegie Hall
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Friday, 14 March 2025 13:50
- Written by Jack Angstreich
Soloist Yunchan Lim with the London Symphony Orchestra. Photo by Chris Lee.
At the wonderful Stern Auditorium, on the evening of Thursday, March 6th, I had the pleasure to attend a superb concert presented by Carnegie Hall—the second of two on consecutive nights—featuring the excellent London Symphony Orchestra under the very distinguished direction of its Chief Conductor, Sir Antonio Pappano.
The event started brilliantly with an amazing performance of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s incomparable Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18, with the terrific soloist, Yunchan Lim. The very beginning of the initial, Moderato movementhas a premonitory character, but it very quickly becomes the vehicle for a moody, passionate Romanticism, while the piano enters with the exquisite, primary theme; the music intensifies, ultimately concluding forcefully. The ensuing, slow movement, marked Adagio sostenuto, is extraordinarily lyrical, if meditative; it too builds to an early climax before closing softly. The Allegro scherzando finale is dynamic, propulsive and dazzling, but with quiet interludes, ending triumphantly. Exceedingly enthusiastic applause elicited an exceptionally beautiful encore from Lim: Franz Liszt’s "Sonetto del Petrarca No. 104" from Années de pèlerinage, deuxième année: Italie, No. 5.
The second half of the concert was also remarkable: a sterling realization of the undervalued, seldom played Symphony No. 1 of William Walton. According to the useful notes on the program by Jack Sullivan, “Walton wrote it during an unhappy love affair to a young, widowed baroness he could not hope to marry because of his lower-middle-class social status.” He adds that “The work is dedicated to the lover who broke up with him, Baroness Irma von Doernberg.” The composer said, “This awful tempestuous work was really all her fault.” Sullivan comments:
Nonetheless, the symphony took a while to enter the repertory, partly because, as Walton ruefully said, “it is so damn hard to play.”
In 2021, the late critic Terry Teachout eloquently wrote the following about the piece:
The First Symphony, above all, is a work of colossal force, one that has always belonged in the international repertoire, and this symphony as well as its companion pieces of the ’30s deserve to be known as masterpieces whose accessibility is a mark not of their superficiality but their distinction. They may not sound all that English, but they sound like no one else … and their time will come.
The first movement—it has a tempo of Allegro assai—begins suspensefully, rapidly becoming very turbulent—but with subdued episodes—and finishing emphatically. The succeeding Scherzo, marked Presto con malizia, is breathless in momentum for much of its length, but again with less exuberant passages, and it ends abruptly and unconventionally. The slow movement (Andante con malinconia) is inward and emotional, but song-like at times, and it closes gently. The annotator records that:
Walton wrote the ending first, so he knew where the symphony was heading. “I always looked forward to the last movement when I was conducting it,” he said.
The Maestoso finale is stirring, exciting and dramatic—even sometimes extravagant—but, again, with more tentative sections; it concludes affirmatively, if not pronouncedly so. A deserved standing ovation was rewarded with another magnificent encore: the unsurpassably enchanting Valse triste of Jean Sibelius.
March '25 Digital Week II
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Wednesday, 12 March 2025 19:53
- Written by Kevin Filipski
Vienna Philharmonic Perform Mozart & More at Carnegie Hall
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- Parent Category: Film and the Arts
- Category: Reviews
- Published on Thursday, 06 March 2025 14:05
- Written by Jack Angstreich
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.
