Martinů, Dvořak

It may surprise people that the main reason I attended tonight’s concert of the Tschaikowsky Symphony Orchestra in the Tschaikowsky Hall came from a desire to hear some works by Bohuslav Martinů, since his music does not receive much play.

Until the fall of the Soviet Union, this orchestra was known as the Large Symphony Orchestra of the Soviet Radio.  On the podium tonight was Gintaras Rinkevičius, a Soviet-trained Lithuanian, whom my mother might describe as a “tall glass of water.”  In fact, he should not have conducted from a podium: in order to remain in the sight-lines of the orchestra, he had to hunch over rather severely; whenever he forgot to hunch, I think the orchestra members may have strained their necks looking up for his cues.  However, he had a clear technique and abundant energy.

The first half of the concert contained three works by Martinů composed in 1932-33, which made a clear progression.  The Serenade #2 for Strings opened the concert, and in it Martinů used an eighteenth-century classical style with just a hint of update.  The next work, the Serenade #3 for Oboe, Clarinet, and Strings was also remarkably classical in form (although in only two self-contained movements) but had sufficient dissonance to give it a mean edge and useful contrasts.  The third work in the progression, the Concerto for Trio and String Orchestra was clearly a child of the twentieth century, with the competing tonal but dissonant lines, often performed by the trio, leading naturally to soaring harmonic chorales in the orchestra.

After the intermission came the more-known Symphony #8 by Antonín Dvořák.  The orchestra sounded great, and Rinkevičius certainly drew out the energy of the piece, but in his efforts to keep it crisp he may have produced technique that came across as too abrupt, almost starting-and-stopping between each phrase.

The concert tonight was surprisingly crowded, although I think because they let all the little old ladies out of the nursing home.  They clapped between every movement (audiences in Moscow usually know better).  And they hacked out several lungs during the first half of the concert, so that I think many of them did not survive until the second half, when many seats were suddenly vacant and the coughing stopped.  Either that or the sick old ladies were all Martinů fans who hate Dvořák.

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