Reich, Bernstein, Antheil, Copland, Curiale, Still
Sibelius, Britten, Schoenberg, Strauss
A wonderful Sunday morning chamber concert in the Mozarteum by the Camerata Salzburg featured some lesser-known works by Janne Sibelius, Benjamin Britten, Arnold Schoenberg, and Richard Strauss. It was like being invited over for brunch by old friends who spent the meal regaling me of stories from their youth that I had never heard before, full of detail and charm. (That said, I actually have heard the Strauss work in concert once before, and own excerpts from the Sibelius work on a recording; the rest was new for me.)
The Camerata’s strings were especially lush, and for those pieces requiring woodwinds, they were emotive. We had that all together for the incidental music composed by Sibelius for Maeterlinck’s Pelleas and Melisande, a rare work by that composer not rooted in Finnish myth, but still identifiably Sibelian in its somber but dramatic colors.
On either side of the intermission, soprano Anna Prohaska joined the orchestra for some songs. Before the intermission came “Illuminations” by Britten, setting texts by a London-based French poet, Arthur Rimbaud, who wrote in French but used English metrics. These also spanned the dramatic range, and demonstrated Britten’s mastery of both fine chamber musicianship and rhetoric. Prohaska channeled her inner Britten, also mastering both, with a fine dramatic reading spanning the emotions.
After the intermission, Prohaska and the ensemble added two songs by Schoenberg, based on themes from early string quartets setting the words of poet Stefan George: “Litany” and “Rapture.” If Schoenberg’s starting point was Beethoven, he quickly moved into new tonal (or atonal) experiments, but left enough room for today’s artists to wax mystical.
As a final programmed work, the Camerata’s principal hornist Johannes Hinterholzer came to the front of the stage for Strauss’ Horn Concerto #1, which the then 18-year-old composer wrote as a 60th birthday present for his illustrious hornist father. Where the other works on this morning’s program were essentially melancholic, this one was boisterous and happy. Hinterholzer played with enthusiasiasm, backed up in equal measures by his colleagues, all clearly having fun while doing so.
There was an encore, which Hinterholzer introduced loudly enough but then he swallowed the name of the composer so that it became unintelligible, so I have no idea what it was; it was not as good as the Strauss and on the whole we could have done without it. The four scheduled pieces on the program were enough of a good thing with this group. The orchestra went without a conductor today, instead having guest concert master Sebastian Breuninger lead, giving demonstrative cues. Breuninger is the concert master of the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra – the Camerata’s own concert master, Gregory Ahss, announced in the annual program schedule and in many of the flyers available in the foyer (but not in the printed program, which showed Breuninger) as leading this concert, was mysteriously absent. I saw Ahss perform with this orchestra in January, and an on-line search comes up with no further information about the substitution.
Haydn, Grassl, Schubert
Writing notes on paper and having people holding instruments perform them does not per se qualify as composing music. Tonight in the Viennese Hall of the Mozarteum, the Stadler Quartet gave the world premiere of String Quartet #4 “Phases” by Herbert Grassl. Somewhere inside the instruments, music (maybe Stravinsky?) was trying to escape, but Grassl made sure to keep it imprisoned. In some cases rhythms bounced on monotonously, in other cases he had the musicians beat the sound back into their instruments percussively, and in still other cases he seems to have become so obsessed with gimmicks (let’s see what cutesy thing I can make an instrument do!!!) that he kept doing that and simply stopped even trying to find a musical line anymore.
Joseph Haydn and Franz Schubert, on the other hand, knew how to write music, and tonight’s selections, performed on either side of the Grassl wreck, were wonderful. Haydn essentially invented this genre, and his String Quartet #56 opened the concert. This was full of surprises – in dissonance, rhythm, and contrast of instruments playing against each other – but never lost sight of the fact that it was supposed to be a piece of music. Grassl might have done himself a favor by studying the master.
Schubert’s String Quartet #15, the final work he wrote in this genre, may have reached the pinnacle of the form. He too used inventive harmonies, rhythms, and ways of mixing the instruments (only four? it sounded like an orchestra at times!) to construct enormous sonorities. Listening to this work – and in this performance – it becomes easy to understand why Anton Bruckner so admired Schubert’s craftmanship. This piece had much more going on than even Haydn had conceived possible, and anticipated music far beyond 1826 (when Schubert wrote it) – although Schubert probably did not anticipate Grassl. The Stadler Quartet transported us to another world for this one – a sublime performance.
Nicolai, Strauss, Tschaikowsky, Ishii
The Waseda Symphony Orchestra stopped in Salzburg on its European tour, along with a troupe of traditional Japanese drummers. This orchestra is the student orchestra of Waseda University, which does not actually have a music department so all of these students are studying something else.
The orchestra, under Kazufumi Yamashita, was enthusiastic and quite adept. Otto Nicolai‘s Overture to The Merry Wives of Windsor opened ahead of the Sinfonia Domestica by Richard Strauss. The legato string playing sometimes managed to capture the right Austrian lilt (neither composer was Austrian, but both had deep connections here – among other things, Nicolai co-founded the Vienna Philharmonic and Strauss co-founded the Salzburg Festival). The Sinfonia Domestica, with its many exposed lines, allowed Yamashita to showcase different members of the winds – with an especially excellent oboist. Tschaikowsky‘s fantasy overture Romeo and Juliette came across just as enthusiastically if somewhat less successfully to start the concert’s second half (many of the wind players seemed to have changed, so this must have been the “B” team).
The Taiko Drummers marched on stage next, their sleeveless shirts flamboyantly displaying enormous muscled arms. It quickly became clear why they needed those, as they banged away on their selection of traditional drums during the Mono Prism for Japanese Drums and Orchestra, by Maki Ishii. The orchestral accompaniment essentially set the background mood, upon which the drummers built their huge sounds. Ishii had explained that the name “mono” referred to monochrome, so where this piece had no melodies it was instead a rhythmic showpiece.
Two encores followed: the first was an orchestral piece (which I did not recognize), where the principal oboist came back out to shine in dialogue with the orchestra. The second encore was another piece for the Japanese drums and orchestra, this one more colorful, almost with the throbbing passion of a Brazilian Carnival.
Dvořák, Tschaikowsky, Schostakowitsch
I do not think I have ever heard a cello so gorgeously played as by Mischa Maisky tonight, in a performance of Dvořák‘s Cello Concerto with the SWR Symphony Orchestra and Aziz Shokhakimov in Salzburg’s Great Festival House. When he needed a big sound to balance the whole orchestra, he got it; when he needed delicate playing, he did that too (his duets with the principal flute were especially wonderous, the flutist sounding far better than Wednesday evening’s solo flutist too). Throughout, his tone was heart-rendingly warm and full – high notes, low notes, loud, soft, delicate, aggressive, whatever it was, pure beauty emerged. Shokhakimov did not exactly restrain the orchestra, nor flatten – no, this was a full orchestral effort, but he did ensure it had a solid basis for accompaniment that allowed Maisky to take over the extra interpretation, with lilts and embellishments. Indeed, a human voice singing actual words could probably not have been so expressive (as an encore, the orchestra accompanied Maisky in Lensky’s aria from Tschaikowsky‘s Yevgeny Onyegin, with the baritone transcribed for cello, and he made us forget that there are normally words being sung).
I really do not know what else to say. And this is especially so since the last time I heard this concerto was at last summer’s Festival, also with Shokhakimov on the podium (his prize-winner’s concert, having won the young conductors’ competition at the 2016 Festival), but then with a dreadful cello soloist who butchered this beautiful piece. I did not blame Shokhakimov for that mess (it was definitely the cellist), but it was vindication that he got to do this piece again in Salzburg so soon thereafter with a cellist at the opposite extreme (and a better orchestra this time, too).
The orchestra is in its second season of existence, having been formed in Fall 2016 from the merger of two orchestras of Germany’s South Western Radio (that network’s house orchestras from Stuttgart and from Baden-Baden). I would imagine that morale would probably not have been very good initially (I’d guess the decision was a financial one), but it did mean they got to select the best players from two decent orchestras, with a really quite good final result, with a level of virtuosity exceeded among German radio orchestras possibly only by the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra.
This talent was on display (without Maisky) after the intermission, for Schostakowitsch‘s First Symphony. A student work (his graduation piece from the conservatory), it did not yet have the darkness and pain he displayed later, but it still represented the next logical forward step in symphonic music after Mahler. A colorful work with many exposed lines (that, as student writing, do not always lead anywhere) presents challenges, which this orchestra handled effortlessly. The affable Uzbek, Shokhakimov, kept them lively.
Mozart, Prokofiev, Strauß
Lahav Shani and the Vienna Symphony Orchestra popped out to Salzburg for a fun jaunt in the Great Festival House.
The Overture to Mozart‘s Marriage of Figaro set the mood nicely. Exhuberant but not bombastic, Shani kept it contained but playful. Given that it did not have to announce the opera (which might have required a bigger reading) but instead Mozart’s first flute concerto, this approach worked to not overwhelm the second work.
Indeed, that unspectacular work would be easy to overwhelm. Mozart hated the flute, but someone paid him to write this concerto, so he did. Tonight’s flutist, Erwin Klambauer, is the first flute of the Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra (which won’t be confused with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra nor the Philharmonic – ironic, since the preface page in the program, which would have been written by the local Salzburg concert promoter, identified him as the principal flute of tonight’s orchestra, but the bio in the program that he himself would have submitted made it clear he is principal flute of the Radio Symphony Orchestra). He had a full and sometimes warm sound, particularly in the lower registers, but at times was also a tad thin and almost hollow. Shani kept the entire ensemble well-balanced, and the soft touch worked.
The fun continued after the intermission – indeed, the party had really just begun. Prokofiev supposedly wrote his Fifth Symphony when the Red Army crossed into Poland for the second time in World War Two. Shani seems to have taken it as a cousin of Schostakowitsch’s Seventh Symphony, whose “invasion” theme Schostakowitsch had written when the Red Army had first marched into Poland in September 1939 after Soviet Russia and its Nazi German allies agreed to dismember that country. (Soviet propaganda, of course, famously repurposed that music.) Now Germany had turned on Russia in 1941, and after a brutal couple of years the Wehrmacht was in retreat, and the Russians once again entered Poland. So this invasion was happier than the one Schostakowitsch had depicted.
Whereas Schostakowitsch also had no qualms about depicting Soviet Russia in all its bleakness, Prokofiev’s war music was almost joyful, particularly as read this evening by Shani and the Vienna Symphony. Indeed, Shani’s interpretation of this symphony was a great deal happier than I think I have heard this work performed before, and the orchestra bought into the reading. The second movement danced openly. The third movement went back to the industrial war, but still upbeat. And the final movement brought back the initial invasion theme with additional dance music. Prokofiev’s symphony is actually quite a complex series of interlocking themes, where one begins before the previous one fully ends, creating conflicting moods and mashing rhythms and harsh dissonance. In this regard, it resembled the experiments the Polish composer Witold Lutosławski tried a few decades later with his “chain form” music – the main difference being that Prokofiev had an overall concept for his symphony and Lutosławski just had a gimmick that got dull quickly once the novelty wore off.
Prokofiev’s symphony was anything but dull, and certainly not with these performers, Shani crafting the shape from the podium while the talented orchestra handled the complex switches with ease. When they finished, the audience stayed stubbornly in their seats and would not let the musicians leave the stage. The applause kept going and going, so we ended up with three encores: first, the March from Prokofiev’s Love of Three Oranges, another snarky march that danced. Then, as long as we were going to get dancing and Poland in the same breath, the next logical move came with two polkas by Johann Strauß II – first the Thunder and Lightning Polka, then the Tritsch-Tratsch Polka, both performed slightly faster than usual. These choices all made sense after the Symphony. (They did tend to make Mozart’s flute concerto even more anomalous, though.)
Mussorgsky, Prokofiev, Schubert, Tschaikowsky
Musical pictures went on exhibit at the Great Festival House this evening, painted wonderfully by Vladimir Fedoseyev and the Tschaikowsky Symphony Orchestra of Moscow Radio.
Modest Mussorgsky‘s Night on Bald Mountain led off the evening appropriately enough as a showpiece – although a popular piece, often regarded as a “warhorse,” I don’t recall seeing it on many concert programs and I do not even remember when I last heard it live. At any rate, with such a performance, the work refreshed itself. The wonderful bitter colors of this orchestra, whose sound has been built up by Fedoseyev in his nearly 44 years at its helm, portrayed a particularly evil witches’ sabbath and a welcome (if not entirely hopeful) escape of the hero saved by the day’s dawn.
Bookending the programmed part of the concert came more Mussorgsky: his Pictures at an Exhibition, in the Ravel orchestration. Ravel’s over-rated reputation as an orchestrator derives primarily from what he accomplished with this set of pieces that Mussorgsky originally wrote for piano. And it is indeed a most excellent scoring – in this case, made more so by this orchestra which ably highlighted the raw Russian character of Mussorgsky’s original music. Each painting came across vividly, the troubador serenading his love outside the castle, the ox wagon rolling harshly by, the newborn chicks chirping in their shells, and the clanging bells of the Great Gate of Kiev bringing the exhibit to its glorious conclusion. Colorful vivid playing brought out the music.
In between, Andrei Korobeinikov returned as soloist for the Second Piano Concerto by Prokofiev. The two previous times I heard this concerto (most recently at last Summer’s Festival) overwhelmed me. Tonight’s interpretation ended up being much more sedate. Korobeinikov did not approach this concerto as the tour de force that it is. Instead, he restrainted himself by opting to play it almost delicately. Instead of massive angles of sounds bombarding the listener from all directions, we may have had all of the notes there but wafting from the keyboard and moving merrily out into the room. Fedoseyev took his cue from the soloist in leading the orchestral accompaniment in a manner that supported Korobeinikov – to do anything else would have left the soloist swamped. In this reading, the concerto became somewhat less bizarre than it had sounded before, maybe even more beautiful, although it had been the utter craziness of it which had endeared it to me the previous two times I heard it.
Korobeinikov came back out for one encore: Schubert‘s Erlkönig in an arrangement without words for solo piano. For the vocal lines, Korobeinikov made clear and dramatic distinctions among the three characters, but he also slowed the tempi right down for those sections, which did not come across as necessary and probably made this piece more schizophrenic than it needed to be.
The orchestra also presented two encores at the very end. The first was their old stand-by, which I have finally learned is the Spanish dance from Tschaikowsky‘s Swan Lake. I knew it sounded like a Russian interpretation of Spanish music, but had never placed it before perhaps because I now realize I have never actually seen Swan Lake nor heard the whole ballet. This was again suitable up-beat, as was the second encore (it did not look like they intended a second encore, as the orchestra members had already started congratulating themselves on stage and gotten ready to leave, but the buzz in the hall required more). I could not identify the second encore, however – sounded annoyingly familiar, but had me stumped.
Glinka, Tschaikowsky, Rachmaninov, Schostakowitsch
The Tschaikowsky Symphony Orchestra of Moscow Radio pays a visit to Austria this week with its long-time (since 1974!) music director Vladimir Fedoseyev. Of three concerts in Salzburg there is some program overlap, which I avoid by going to my subscription concert tonight, skipping tomorrow, but returning on Friday, and then I get to hear them in Vienna on Saturday with yet another set of works on the program. Tonight’s performance was definitely a concert of two halves: whimsical Glinka and Tschaikowsky before the break, and Schostakowitsch served raw after.
The Overture to Glinka’s Ruslan and Lyudmila gave a spirited start to the Orchestra’s arrival in the Great Festival House. This fairy tale opera is mostly known only by this Overture, which is a shame – I did have a chance to see it once (at Moscow’s Novaya Opera) and wish opera houses would stage it more (not least because, in a fun performace such as the one I saw at the Novaya, children will get hooked on opera). But if we only get the overture, then Glinka’s music marks as good a place as anywhere to open several nights of Russian music.
Next came Tschaikowsky’s Second Piano Concerto. I am not sure I had been aware that he had written more than one (the famous one) until I showed up tonight and realized that the one in the program was number two! It’s perhaps not as memorable as his first, and might have used some editing (particularly the far-too-long first movement), but it was fun in its own way. The first movement certainly used every key on the keyboard (I was half expecting pianist Andrei Korobeinikov to run out of keys at both ends). While that movement did not contain exciting music, it did have intrigue. In the second movement, Tschaikowsky never quite figured out what sort of piece he was writing, switching among several, including various chamber combinations (not all of which even utilized a piano – the violin-cello duets were certainly special, then with strong continuo; the combinations involving piano and different winds also stood out). What would he have thought of next? Well, that would be the final movement, which exhibited the skill and coloration with which the composer had constructed his moody opera Yevgeny Onyegin, except without the depressants.
Korobeinikov’s treatment was flat (in a good way): this was not a flashy work (Tschaikowsky’s friend Nikolai Rubinstein, known for his excellent musicality but sober and contained technique, was supposed to have performed the premiere, however he died suddenly right before the concert and Sergey Taneyev took over, under the baton of Nikolai’s even more famous older brother Anton – the composer dedicated the concerto to Nicolai’s memory). Korobeinikov gave us a flashier (unidentified – UPDATE: subsequently identified as Rachmaninov‘s Piano Prelude #5 – I am not so familiar with solo piano reportary, as I am actually not a fan of the instrument) encore to show us he could do flash too (I hope so, since he’s performing Prokofiev’s absolutely nutso second piano concerto on Friday).
After the intermission, Fedoseyev led an almost restrained reading of Schostakowitsch’s Symphony #10. Begun in dark times, right after the end of the Second World War when Soviet Russia had defeated its one-time ally Nazi Germany and then people woke up and realized they still had to live in Soviet Russia. This performance was all gloom and doom, yet nevertheless quiet, passive, and even submissive – never bombastic (I’ve heard good bombastic interpretations of this symphony, too, but that was not Fedoseyev’s approach tonight). This interpretation worked, as it allowed the periodic harsh dissonance and jarring syncopations to jump off the stage, scraping at an open wound. By the time Schostakowitsch finished writing this symphony, Stalin had died, and the final movement tonight came across as an off-kilter dance on his grave – off kilter because, despite that evil man’s demise, the Soviet Union was still around and ultimately outlasted Schostakowitsch, who would never know freedom. For this work, this orchestra’s unmistakable Russian tone stood out – not always the most polished noises come out of the instruments, but the style is intentional and the sound authentically Russian.
For the second time in five days, I got to hear Bruckner‘s Eighth in Salzburg’s Great Festival House, tonight with the Bruckner Orchestra of Linz under its new chief conductor, Markus Poschner.
Sunday’s performance was better. First of all, the Mozarteum Orchestra is simply a far better ensemble, and in a difficult work like this, the quality of the orchestra right there counts for much. But as the orchestra formerly known as the Linz Theater Orchestra was renamed fifty years ago after Upper Austria’s greatest composer, Bruckner does make up a staple of its repertory, so it should be expected to specialize in this music.
Poschner’s concept was to treat this expansive work as almost a chamber symphony. Sure, he had the full-sized orchestra on stage and playing, but he often restrained them. This had the unfortunate drawback that it also exposed them – they lack the virtuosity of the Mozarteum Orchestra, so missed some cues, came in off-pitch, and just did not maintain the beauty of sound at the lower volumes. For the louder moments, they did not quite soar either. I suppose the third movement – one of the greatest adagios in the entire symphonic repertory – came of worst for the wear: far too small. But throughout the brass chorales never took off, the strings creaked, the woodwinds (especially the flutes) never quite found the right tones, and the tympanist was fine but might have been unleashed more.
Thankfully, the performance did not drag (as a bad performance of this symphony inevitably does), so it was essentially in good working order. But coming as it did so close to the Mozarteum’s performance of the same work in this hall, it did not survive the comparison. I cannot say I am disappointed to hear this symphony twice within one week.
Mozart, Liszt, Schubert
The Hungarian National Philharmonic visited Salzburg’s Great Festival House with the French oboist and conductor François Leleux, bringing colorful performances which lacked motion. Well, Leleux jumped around a lot and was quite expressive. And clearly he had a sense of color as well, dinstinguishing each fine grain. This was serious music-making. Yet still it sat (perhaps using “still” here as both an adverb and an adjective).
The concert opened with Wolfgang Amadé Mozart‘s oboe concerto, with Leleux performing the solo and conducting. Leleux produced a warm tone, maybe not quite as strident as an oboe should be, but more cantabile. The Mozart concerto is in general unconvincing – I think he must have spat it out for a commission, but it lacks passion (interestingly, I am familiar with the version Mozart later transcribed for flute – either it works better as a flute concerto, or Leleux just did not convince me about the oboe version). Tomorrow night these forces will perform Ludwig August Lebrun’s first oboe concerto, which (for those in the know) really is special. But my subscription is tonight, and I won’t go tomorrow (there is duplication on the program, and tonight’s concert did not inspire me to see if any tickets are available tomorrow).
The Mozart concerto did conclude with music Mozart subsequently reworked for an opera aria in Abduction, so there was promise there at least. And Leleux returned for an oboe encore with the orchestra, which was actually the highlight of the entire evening: a transcription of the Queen of the Night’s aria from the Magic Flute. Leleux’s oboe sang.
The pure orchestral music followed, with Ferenc Liszt‘s Preludes. This must be bread-and-butter for the Hungarians, but it underscored the entire concert. They produced very nuanced colors – indeed this was a painting as much as it was a symphonic poem, crossing all senses. But somehow it lacked impulse. So while I may never have heard this work sounding so colorful as the orchestra made it sound tonight, I also did not think it was possible to make this work lack movement. Leleux was bouncing, and obviously coaxing the colors from the orchestra, but the music was not going anywhere. So gorgeous, complex playing… but static.
After the intermission came Franz Schubert‘s Fourth Symphony (“Tragic”) and as an encore an intermezzo from his Rosamund (the second time I’ve heard that piece as an encore this season), and both performances dragged colorfully much like Liszt’s Preludes. In the audience, I did hear some Hungarian accents, which always sound especially charming in German, so I went home with a smile on my face, if not exactly energized.
Bruckner‘s 8th is one of my favorite symphonies. If performed badly, however, it provides 90 minutes of utter tedium. So when the Mozarteum Orchestra announced its 2017-18 schedule, my initial excitement to see this work programmed this morning in the Sunday subscription series turned immediately to disappointment when I noted the chosen conductor: the talentless Jeffrey Tate guaranteed it would be an unbearable ninety minutes which I had no desire to suffer through. So I dropped my Sunday subscription this year in part as a result (also because the February concert in the Sunday series contains far too much Debussy to be worth waking up early in the morning for – actually, far too much Debussy to be worth the effort of even climbing the staircase to my seat in the Great Festival House even if I were already standing in the foyer) so I picked the Sunday concerts I wanted and mixed-and-matched (including with the great Camerata concert I attended on Friday) to form a different subscription leaving out the ones I did not want.
Then last month at my Mozarteum Orchestra Thursday evening subscription concert I saw in the list of upcoming concerts that for this morning’s Bruckner 8th they had replaced Tate on the podium with Karl-Heinz Steffens. I have never heard of Steffens, but that was enough of an endorsement given the man he replaced. My usual subscription seat was even still available, so I grabbed it.
Steffens had an ear for some fine details. This performace was like getting a tour of a cathedral from an architect who periodically stopped to admire individual gargoyles. At times, he took an almost minimalist approach, exposing instruments and placing the weight of the whole symphony on them – especially the woodwinds (I don’t think I’d ever appreciated the role the oboe plays in this symphony until this morning). These touches stood out especially in the first movement, where they sounded almost plaintive. He made the second movement more boisterous, actually cheerful. And while the tempi he chose for the third and fourth movements were well within conventions, they were perhaps a tad faster than I prefer. But this approach served his overall concept, to make this deeply religious work rather hopeful that the power of prayer might be answered.
My biggest quibble with the whole performace was Steffens’ failure to hold the silence at the end: he dropped his arms immedately on the final chord. A well-deserved applause (the orchestra sounded fantastic this morning) erupted long and loud – but really this symphony requires absolute silence and heavy contemplation before returning to earth.
Because the Mozarteum Foundation does not coordinate its schedule (beyond not double-booking a hall) with the Kulturvereinigung, the other main Salzburg concert society, the Kulturvereinigung invited a guest orchestra to perform this symphony in the same hall on Friday (a concert I did include in one of my subscription packages with them). Lucky me: I get to hear Bruckner’s 8th twice within just five days.
Schnittke, Beethoven, Mahler, Martin
I added tonight’s concert of the Camerata Salzburg to an eclectic Mozarteum subscription package on a whim. I have no idea why. I certainly did not expect that chamber music by Alfred Schnittke and Frank Martin could be so much fun.
The music was certainly unconventional and gave me a lot to digest (even before dinner – I think all the unexpected digestion made me hungry early tonight). The concert opened with Schnittke’s Concerto Grosso #1 for two violins, cembalo, “prepared” piano, and strings. Stylistically this was everywhere (from Corelli to the tango, according to the program), but never felt out of control. I would need to hear it again to understand if Schnittke had some logic to its construction, but even without quite understanding it at this point I could safely feel he must have had one. The two violin parts were taken by the Camerata’s concertmaster Gregory Ahss and guest Andrey Baranov, who played together with one mind. Jumping robustly from musical style to style, they somehow made it sound easy – and it could not have been (must be hard enough if it were a solo violin, but two of them together made the effort more dauting – but achieved). A quick encore by these two (and piano accompaniment) of a Beethoven piece as arranged by Schostakowitsch was more conventional but equally as impressive.
The concert’s last piece was Martin’s Petite Symphonie Concertante for harp, cembalo, piano, and string orchestra – commissioned to provide a baroque continuo orchestra with a modern work. Martin accepted the challenge, producing something classical in form but modern in substance. Although not as boisterous as the Schnittke piece, it remained tonal but always sounding new. What did Martin have to say exactly? Again, like the Schnittke, I am not sure. This is another piece I will absolutely and gladly need to hear again some time.
Tonight’s conductor was Teodor Currentzis, the Russian-trained Greek whose career got stuck in Perm, Siberia. I heard him for the first time last season in front of the Camerata, and noticed then that he showed a great rapport with this group (they had just kicked out their previous unexciting music director and had decided to try to do without one, but I had thought they should snap up Currentzis – indeed, I still think they should). Currentzis had returned to Salzburg for last Summer’s Festival at the head of his own orchestra from Perm, which was unfortunate (too much performance art and not enough performance), but the Camerata is a far better orchestra than his usual one, so the music was foremost tonight, and Currentzis drew it out.
I did have one gripe with tonight’s performance, coming in the form of Gustav Mahler‘s Kindertotenlieder. Currentzis lost it on this one: he insisted on adding his own sound effects (making hush sounds throughout the cycle, perhaps mimicking crashing waves, although I don’t really know what he was trying to do). He really does need to tone down the performance art and stick to music. Fortunately, the Camerata went on with its business and sounded fantastic. Mezzo Ann Hallenberg had a warm and full lower register that almost made me forget it was not a baritone voice tonight (the usual voice for this song cycle – although using a mezzo instead is perfectly acceptable too). Her upper registers were not always quite as complete (or accurate) though.
I probably would not have gone to tonight’s concert at the Mozarteum, except that it was part of a subscription series. Not that anything was wrong with it (or I would have given the ticket away), just that it was not particularly exciting. The value of attending was to hear the Mozarteum Orchestra play beautifully, especially the lush woodwinds and confident brass, on a bed of gorgeous strings. So that was worth it.
The music, presumably selected by the young British conductor Nicholas Collon, was a bit pedestrian. The concert opened with an arrangement of Robert Schumann‘s Six Pieces in Canon Form. Schumann took his inspiration for these piece from technical keyboard studies by Bach, and then this particular set was subsequently rearranged for two pianos by Debussy, then that version was itself orchestrated for chamber orchestra by British composer Robin Holloway, so that this version had its world premiere earlier this year. To a music theorist, Bach’s keyboard studies were mathematical treasure troves – although not necessarily aesthetically great music. And by the time these get washed through three other composers, they are no longer mathematically substantive, so what’s the point any more? At least the playing was nice.
Mozart‘s 22nd Piano Concerto came next. Till Fellner joined the orchestra with his velvety fingers. The first movement started more joyfully, to raise the mood after the Schumann pieces, but then the rest of the performance dragged. Whenever I eventually leave Salzburg I won’t need to be reminded to substantially reduce my intake of Mozart, just as I have already been reducing my intake of Tschaikowsky (whose favorite composer was Mozart). They wrote beautiful music, often wonderfully so, and sometimes they even had something to say about it, but there often just is not enough there there. Living in Salzburg has not inducted me into the cult of Mozart any more than living in Moscow inducted me into the cult of Tschaikowsky – I find both composers highly over-rated (if they did not have cult status, I’d judge them as quite good, but, as it is, enough is enough).
The concert closed with more Schumann: his 2nd Symphony. This drew inspiration from Schubert’s 9th. And while there are some experimental chromatics which the orchestra knew how to navigate, the symphony demonstrated a stunted development in symphonic music that led directly into the musical dead end that was Brahms. (Bruckner, on the other hand, followed the logical development from Schubert and gave us a musical heritage that continued through Mahler, Sibelius, and Schostakowitsch, among others). That said, if I am going to hear this tuneful and often stately symphony, I’m very pleased to have the Mozarteum Orchestra performing it. They did it justice tonight.
Then again, maybe I am being especially jaded, still reveling in the afterglow of last weekend’s interpretation of Haydn and Bruckner by Riccardo Muti and the Vienna Philharmonic. Mozart and Schumann just cannot compare.
Connesson, Lalo, Saint-Saëns, Prokofiev, Stravinsky, Bizet
The Brussels Philharmonic, visiting Salzburg’s Great Festival House this week for a three-night set with its music director Stéphane Denève, sounds like it takes representing its home city seriously: technically proficient, I suppose, but no personality.
The first half of the concert consisted of French music, which was not the problem but probably did not help. A short contemporary work, Maslenitza, by Guillaume Connesson opened the performance. A trip to Russia and Russian music supposed inspired the composer to write this piece, but I heard nothing particularly Russian about it. It consisted of several tonal melodies or phrases, with no apparent logic for why so many and why he put them in the order he did. An inoffensive muddle.
The concert dragged on with Edouard Lalo‘s cello concerto: still inoffensive, maybe less of a muddle, but no real point either. It did contain some wonderful dancing melodies (especially one interplaying the solo cello and the flute in the slow second movement), but they never really went anywhere. The soloist, Gautier Capuçon, had a large sweet and quite beautiful tone well-matched for this music – if anyone could have made something of it, he could have. He and the orchestra followed this up with an encore: the “Swan” from Carnival of the Animals by Saint-Saëns, an animal of grace (thankfully short, however, so it had a point and finished).
The second half of the concert left France and moved to Russia for two sets of ballet excerpts: a long set from Cinderella by Sergei Prokofiev and a suite from the Firebird by Igor Stravinsky. Both actually danced, but neither sounded particulary Russian, the orchestra producing melifluous sounds instead of the somewhat more biting tones a Russian orchestra would produce (although, bizarrely, during the finale of the Firebird, Denève oddly highlighted the strings above the orchestral balance by getting them to attack their instruments as though trying to use their bows to saw their instruments clean in half – out of character for this concert, but not especially clear in motive either.
As a final encore, the orchestra returned to French music and performed the farandole from the incidental music by Georges Bizet to The Girl from Arles: again proficiently – indeed pleasantly – but without nearly the verve and personality demonstrated, for example, by the Cadaqués Orchestra in this same hall last month for this same piece.
I am busy the next two nights, and so never bought tickets for the next performances (tonight is my monthly Wednesday subscription concert). I’m probably not missing anything.
The scheduled conductor for this morning’s concert by the Mozarteum Orchestra got ill last week, leaving the orchestra to scramble to find a replacement who was not only available, but could also take over the identical program of two seldom-performed works: Wagner‘s Faust Overture and Liszt‘s Faust Symphony. In stepped Frank Beermann, who recently left his post after a decade as general music director in Chemnitz to become a freelancer and had this weekend free to rush to Salzburg’s Great Festival House.
Beermann and the orchestra don’t know each other. The orchestra also had not performed these works before. So under the circumstances Beermann took a deliberate, angular, approach. This worked for the Wagner piece and for the final movement of the Liszt. It caused the first two movements of the Liszt to drag. Still, considering they were practically sight-reading the music, the Mozarteum Orchestra’s natural musicality came to the fore, coaxed by Beermann, and in that the concert proved a success.
The Wagner work is from his early period – he had considered an opera based on Goethe’s Faust, which he never wrote, but Liszt had encouraged him to arrange some sketches as a concert overture (originally conceived as the first movement of a series of linked tone poems, which Wagner also never wrote). Despite truncating his project, Wagner already demonstrated his sense of theater, however, and Beermann successfully inspired the orchestra to the dramatic.
Liszt ended up writing the multi-movement tone poem based on Faust that Wagner never wrote. While it does contain some great passages (particularly in the Berlioz-inspired third movement depicting Mephistopheles – apparently it was Berlioz who had introduced Liszt to Goethe’s work), it probably takes a little more effort to keep a performance of this piece compelling for well over an hour. The fault is Liszt’s (uncharacteristically for him, as it happens), who never properly edited his work – this was not one of his better efforts, and indeed instead of editing he kept adding bits to it (including a final chorus – sung here by the Chorus Viennensis and tenor soloist Toby Spence).
Back in the days when I used to have my own Sunday morning radio show, I programmed these two works followed by Mahler’s Eighth Symphony (which includes a setting of the final scene of Faust). Now that combination in a real concert might have been too ambitious, but it would be the logical next development of this music and I would have gladly stayed. Instead, I came home and cooked breakfast.
Offenbach, Hoffmanns Erzählungen
The fact that Offenbach died before completing – or even properly organizing – The Tales of Hoffmann has left opera companies great flexibility in determining how to stage the opera – which music or dialogues to include and in what order. Anything coherent could work in theory. A little over a year ago I sat through a mess of a production at the Volksoper, but have rectified this tonight by attending the Salzburg Landestheater‘s new production.
The staging itself was neither here nor there – not elaborate, not in any particular style, but with many props so it was a staging. It did not help, but it also did not interfere with what was otherwise a finely structured performance overall. The concept relied on Hoffmann and his muse stepping out of the stories they had drafted themselves into as participants in order to also be external observers (the author and his muse, after all). Hoffmann’s loves always went horribly wrong, as he became depressed while he wrote and in this setting his muse had to put an end to each story and get him to move on. In the epilogue, Hoffmann with the help of his muse, came to the conclusion that he did not himself need love because he had his art. The muse conjured up all of Hoffmann’s characters for a triumphant final chorus.
What is most interesting about this ending is that it was the same ending the Volksoper used in its production last year. But in the Volksoper’s version it made no sense, essentially because the Volksoper’s version had no logical concept for the performing version they used which seemingly contained every sketch Offenbach ever jotted down with no editing whatsoever. The Landestheater’s well-thought-through performing version could handle this ending. This meant also deleting the role of Stella – she cannot appear because that would be just another love lost for Hoffmann, whereas here instead of getting defeated drunk under the table, Hoffmann emerges with his muse in triumph.
That the cast and orchestra rose to the challenge musically certainly increased the triumph. Franz Supper as Hoffmann drove the opera forward with nuance, his voice remaining firm throughout, the glue to hold these stories together. George Humphreys, performing all four villains, kept a menacing tone and a sense of drama. Tamara Gura, as Hoffmann’s muse, acted well but did not always have a big enough voice. Of the three female loves, Tamara Ivaniš as the doll Olympia gave the strongest performance, with an appropriately delicate voice that nevertheless projected through the hall. Anne-Fleur Werner as the singer Antonia in the third act (they used the traditional order, albeit probably not the order Offenbach wanted, putting Antonia as the third of the three) also performed her role with tragedy and love. In the middle, Angela Davis as Giulietta was merely adequate.
The Mozarteum Orchestra exceeded itself in the pit tonight. Adrian Kelly had them in full sound, but always properly proportioned to never overwhelm the singers, but with enough volume and shape to almost become a character of its own (it never overstepped its role as a pit orchestra, but its gorgeous playing was certainly appreciated and noted by the even more rousing applause it received at the end). Kelly’s pacing was perfect, allowing this performance to keep moving forward, even if we sometimes may have wished to get lost in the lush playing and thrilling Offenbachian tunes.
The director was a young German, Alexandra Liedke. What is unclear to me is whether she made the decision about which performing version to construct, or whether someone on the musical side took that decision and she just staged it (given that she is a German opera director, my inclination is that the good decision was more likely taken by someone else – German directors are so awful that they don’t get the benefit of any doubt). As I said, the staging itself was neither good nor bad. If she took the decision of how to put together this version, then good on her (and how atypical of a German director). If she just staged a version someone else had assembled, then I suppose it could have been worse – but certainly the staging allowed an intelligently-constructed performing version of this opera to bloom. Score one for the muse.
Bizet, Sarasate, Falla, Chapí
The Cadaqués Orchestra picked up where it left off, with a complete triumph on the stage of Salzburg’s Great Festival House this evening. This was the same orchestra which successfully delivered Mendelssohn’s Third Symphony on Wednesday, with great drama and nuance directed from chief conductor Jaime Martín, once again joined by the spectacular Leticia Moreno for solo violin work. Unsadled with the dreadful music of Piazzolla that weighed down the first half of Wendesday’s concert, music by Georges Bizet and Pablo de Sarasate let the orchestra glisten.
Tonight’s concert opened with a few short selections from Bizet’s incidental music to The Girl from Arles, that enabled individual instrumental lines to stand out within an overall complete sound. The orchestra is still a tad small, but made up for the reduced size through enthusiasm. This approach especially came out in the concert’s second half, a performance of Bizet’s Symphony in C, which he wrote when he was only 17 and then suppressed (it had its premiere sixty years after his death after the score was rediscovered). Although a not-fully developed youthful work, the symphony showed great talent – the scope of a middle-period Mozart symphony, the internal humor of late Haydn, and the melodic inventiveness of early Beethoven or Schubert. Martín drew out the solo lines – especially highlighting the woodwinds, who demonstrated remarkable virtuosity they had hinted at on Wednesday – but without overshadowing the complete symphonic sound. (Why did Bizet suppress this work? With a few notable exceptions such as the opera Carmen and the incidental music from The Girl from Arles, as well as portions of the opera Pearl Fishers, his later music was mostly forgetable although he clearly had talent – there are theories that have to do with France’s complete lack of musical sophistication, but he could have rebelled against that in the way the others like Berlioz did). The orchestra clearly enjoyed itself, and the audience erupted into applause – even briefly the rare rhythmic clapping normally reserved for the pinacle of ensembles in this musically-literate country.
The first half of the concert also included the appearance by Moreno for two programmed works by Sarasate: Gypsy Airs (based on central European gypsy fiddle music) and the Carmen Fantasy (based on themes from Bizet’s opera). Moreno’s performance was sultry, dark but alluring. She demonstrated mastery over every tone, thick in the slower measures, quick-fingered in the wild ones. Tonight she did not have to struggle with the poor score she had on Wednesday, but instead took charge of the already-complex music and made it her own. The enraptured audience could not really contain itself, breaking into an inappropriate roaring applause right in the middle of her show, and refusing to give up cheering until conductor Martín turned around on the podium and pleaded with the audience to stop clapping. I’ve never seen this behavior in Salzburg before – and while I shared the audience’s opinion of her playing, I did not go along. When these two pieces ended, she added a work by Manuel de Falla, in duet with the harpist.
I think we could have kept calling her out, but it ended there. Likewise at the end of the concert the audience demanded more, but we only got one orchestral encore tonight (the same Chapí overture for La Revoltosa they did on Wednesday, although tonight with even more buzz in the air).
Albéniz, Piazzolla, Mendelssohn, Schubert, Chapí
The Cadaqués Orchestra has come from Catalonia to Salzburg for a three-night visit with its chief conductor Jaime Martín (a Cantabrian, not a Catalan, for what it’s worth). Tonight’s concert and tomorrow’s have the same program, and Friday’s is different – so I have my Wednesday subscription ticket tonight and will hear them again for the other set on Friday. This was a nice little ensemble – only slightly bigger than a chamber group, but which played well together, and if sometimes a tad brash to overcompensate for the size, nevertheless produced a full sound. The woodwinds in particular characterized the overall sound.
Martín understands his orchestra’s strength, and this was best heard in the main work of the concert’s second half, the Third Symphony (“Scottish”) by Felix Mendelssohn. It was enlightening to contrast this idiomatic performance so soon after hearing the Mozarteum Orchestra perform Mendelssohn’s Fourth (“Italian”) recently. The Mozarteum Orchestra is better on the whole, but its brand new young chief conductor Riccardo Minasi has a tendency to get over-exuberant, rushing through the faster bits and lacking nuance – indeed, I wonder if Minasi understands harmony. Martín clearly does get harmony, drawing out the different lines – including all of the middle lines – across the instruments, so that we could hear the complexities but also one single complete sound. And while Martín took the fast bits quickly enough, he emphasized rather more stately tempos when needed, for an overall well-paced performance – and a real triumph.
This approach continued through two encores which followed: an intermezzo from Schubert‘s Rosamund (charming) and the overture to Ruperto Chapí‘s zarzuela La Revoltosa (witty).
That said, the first half of the concert did not succeed as well. The opening work – an orchestration of “Catalonia” from the Spanish Suite by Isaac Albéniz, gave a hint of what was to come, but was perhaps too short and abrupt to highlight this orchestra’s strengths, at least as a starter. It just made the orchestra sound a bit thin (is this orchestra even big enough for that orchestration, done by Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos to perform with a larger ensemble?).
Worse though was the Four Seasons in Buenos Aires by Astor Piazzolla, in an arrangement for violin and chamber orchestra. I’ve heard this work – or individual seasons from it – rearranged for various combinations of instruments. No arrangement can disguise Piazzolla’s lack of talent as a composer, and it was this aspect that failed once again tonight. The logic behind this arrangement was that Piazzolla was apparently originally inspired by Vivaldi’s original Four Seasons, and so he hid bits of the Vivaldi in his new music, as well as what I am sure was Pachelbel’s Canon (I must admit to never having heard those direct quotations of Vivaldi and Pachelbel before when I have heard this work – maybe I’ve always been too bored by it to notice). The Catalans really should not have bothered with Piazzolla’s recycled garbage and just performed Vivaldi (and Pachelbel) in the original.
Except… then we might not have had the most excellent solo violinist, Leticia Moreno, who took Piazzolla’s music and made it worth listening to. This arrangement required a good deal of dexterity on the instrument, often more rough country fiddle than soothing baroque violin. But as if to show she could do the sweet tones as well, she came out for an encore with the orchestra – I’m not sure what it was (sounded sugary, more background film music than concert music), but she got the style down here too, a master of her trade. I’d love to hear her perform a piece that actually has musical value and doesn’t just require her talent to carry it.
I did have one quibble with this orchestra, though – they string section all breathed in unison, loudly. I was in my usual subscription seat up in the balcony (not close to the orchestra, but good acoustics) and kept hearing them breath clearly, all together, like a wind machine. This was truly disconcerting (no pun intended).