The “Musica Aeterna” Orchestra of the Perm Opera certainly provided the most unusual reading of Mahler‘s First Symphony (the third live performance of the work I have heard this year), paired with Berg‘s Violin Concerto in Salzburg’s Felsenreitschule.
It’s not that it was necessarily bad – it wasn’t – but they tried too hard to make it more performance art than performance. Less of the former and more of the latter would have been nice.
Conducting was Teodor Currentzis, whom I first heard last Fall with the Camerata Salzburg and thought was quite promising. I think he still is, but he seems to have let spectacle get the better of him. Currentzis is a Greek who studied in Russia and whose career seems to have gotten stuck in Siberia. He’s beginning to venture back out. He founded this orchestra (with a Latin name – why?) in 2004 – one wonders what the Perm Opera used for an orchestra until then.
Russian orchestras have a distinctive timbre, mostly from the method of playing the wind instruments. This works surprisingly well for Mahler. However, this orchestra does not sound Russian at all, and instead has a rather homogenized sound, which is unfortunate. Perhaps to make up for this lack of distinction (which I suppose he wants – it’s his orchestra, after all, and always has been!), Currentzis plays with the volume to exaggerate the dynamic range. This produces delicate rather than robust playing for the quieter moments (even when quiet robust would be wanted) and big swells of sound to the larger moments. The overall tone is not bad, it’s just the orchestra seems to use dynamics as a substitute for actually inflecting the music.
For the Mahler, Currentzis had the orchestra stand rather than sit (except for those instruments that have to be played sitting down). The musicians did not seem to know what to do, fidgeting from leg to leg (or in some cases, especially the concertmaster, more than fidgeting – he kept jumping around, up and down, and almost off the stage). Visually this became distracting. And while there may be times (chamber orchestras in confined spaces, for example) where standing might be preferable, an hour-long Mahler symphony is not one of those times.
Tacked onto the Mahler First came an encore – the Adagietto from Mahler’s Fifth. Lacking the big swells of the Mahler First, this single movement lent itself even less to the performance style and made the delicate playing sound altogether too thin (especially for the drawn-out slow movement speed).
The first half of the concert had also been for show. Members of the orchestra started playing – or, rather, making noises on – their instruments before Currentzis and soloist Patricia Kopatchinskaja came on stage. These noises were, I think, supposed to be aetherial noises to set a mood. Again, they served only to showcase performance art over performance. Currentzis and Kopatchinskaja tip-toed on stage during this nonsense (Kopatchinskaja barefoot – as is her wont – but also taking a random detour through the orchestra on her way in), and then jumped right into Berg’s concerto.
Berg’s Violin Concerto is a difficult enough work to figure out – except during the occasional lapses when Berg actually tried to write (and succeeded in writing) music. The weird intro did not help this understanding. At least the orchestra was sitting down for this one.
Again, it’s not that the performance was bad, it was just they tried too hard to make it performance art. They should stick to music.
Bach, Schostakowitsch, Schubert
Back to the Mozarteum for another chamber concert, this evening with the Hagen Quartet (for Bach and Schostakowitsch) joined by Sol Gabetta for Schubert.
Signature works made up the first half of the concert. Contrapunctus I-IV from Bach’s Art of the Fugue opened the program – each building from Bach’s B-A-C-H signature notation. Bach wrote these more as mathematical exercises than as musical composition, and while they have served – and been rightfully admired – as a good technical manual on fugue-writing for centuries since, they do seem rather too technical. Tonight’s performance bore that out.
Without a break, the Quartet went directly into the Schostakowitsch String Quartet #8, which updated Bach by over two centuries, substituting the Russian composer’s own D-S-C-H musical signature. Where Bach was technical, Schostakowitsch became emotional. Composed in the midst of a depression in his life, the movements were varyingly somber and angry. They borrowed some language from the composer’s Cello Concerto, which I heard in a desolate interpretation with Clemens Hagen, the cellist in this quartet, back in May.
After the intermission came something completely different – or at least somewhat different. Schubert’s late masterwork, his String Quintet composed shortly before his death, filled the second hour. In the quieter parts, the musicians played almost delicately, looking backwards to capture aspects of Bach’s Art. For the larger more raucous moments, particularly inside the Adagio, they struck up agressively, looking forward to the Schostakowitsch. But for playing that was both robust and lyrical at the same time, we needed to wait until the final movement.
On the whole, the permance was technically fine but generally lacked the necessary lyricism. Maybe they should not have started with Bach’s exercises, as their tone never really expanded enough thereafter.
Strauss, Mozart, Henze, Mendelssohn
A chamber ensemble from the Vienna Philharmonic took the stage in the Mozarteum this evening for a concert in memory of Ernst Ottensamer, the orchestra’s principal clarinetist, who died suddenly of a heart attack two weeks ago aged only 61. He himself had done so much to promote chamber music by members of the Philharmonic, particularly through leading the Wiener Virtuosen ensemble.
Tonight’s concert involved all string instruments, with only one exception. It opened with the sextet from Richard Strauss‘ opera Capriccio, a work both lush in post-romanticism and backwards-looking in style to the 18th century. The musicians know the opera, and answer the critical question posed therein: music or words first? Music.
Ernst Ottensamer left two clarinetist sons – Daniel was the second principal (after him) of this orchestra (the other is the principal in Berlin). And so it fell to Daniel Ottensamer to join the strings for Mozart’s clarinet quintet KV581. If Strauss looked back in the first piece, Mozart looked ahead in this piece. The composer wrote for a clarinetist friend who was experimenting with an extended clarinet that could hit an extra lower register – now more commonplace but then a novelty. Ottensamer made the most of the full range of the music, a warm tone wafting across the room and no doubt making his father proud. The audience reciprocated with a warm and extended applause.
Hans Werner Henze‘s The Young Törless: Fantasia for Sextet came after the intermission. Although euqal parts modern and traditional, this distillation of film music was altogether forgettable when juxtaposed with the other items on tonight’s program.
Felix Mendelssohn‘s Octet, composed when he was only 16, showed tremendous maturity, with each of the eight instruments having much to say alternately or together. With many moving lines, the musicians demonstrated their mastery not only in doing their own parts, but by blending their instruments’ voices into a coherent and altogether natural whole that often sounded much bigger and more important than just an octet – both from the standpoint of Mendelssohn’s skilled composition and the orchestra members’ clear comfort in playing together with the same Vienna sound.
The audience did not let them escape that easily, and so we went – as they explained – from 16-year-old Mendelssohn to 12-year-old Mozart, for a short encore.
Another Sunday morning concert with the Vienna Philharmonic in Salzburg’s Great Festival House, in which the work I specifically wanted to hear got overshadowed by the one I did not know and was initially less interested in.
The surprise for me came in the first half of the concert, with Prokofiev‘s Second Piano Concerto, which I did not believe I had ever heard before (I looked it up after the concert: indeed, I heard it in 2009 and seem to have been equally stunned). Written to fulfill a graduation requirement from the conservatory, the precocious student Prokofiev decided to smash all conventions. The result produced a whole lot of sound, often coming at odd angles, emerging from the piano but also bombarding the ears from across the stage. There may have been no particular order to the madness – mostly Prokofiev showing off: “look what I can do!” – but this was no cacaphony.
Soloist Daniil Trifonov, a Russian Wunderkind himself still only 26, siezed the piano in his arms and practically hurled it around the stage. OK, it stayed put, more or less, but he jumped around on the stool more than conductor Andris Nelsons on the podium. His arms were blazing, and hands everywhere (does he only have two hands?), fingers pounding the keys. It was all a blur. But the music… perhaps the snarky young Prokofiev had been on to something, and Trifonov discovered it.
For his part, Nelsons made sure the orchestra provided the perfect context for Trifonov (maybe not as hard with this orchestra, but someone had to put it all together).
After the intermission, Schostakowitsch‘s monumental Seventh Symphony – the work I dearly wanted to hear – became somehow anti-climactic. This is the one symphony that Schostakowtsch wrote knowing it was to be used for propaganda purposes. There’s also a whole lot of sound here, and the orchestra got it all. The subtext is harder to find than in other Schostakowitsch symphonies (according to propaganda, the “invasion” theme in the first movement depicts the German invasion of Russia in 1941; yet Schostakowitsch had actually written this portion nearly two years before, moved by the Russian invasion of Poland as the first phase for implementation of Russo-German alliance that opened the Second World War). In truth, Schostakowitsch had seen firsthand the misery in Leningrad during the German siege and the bravery of the people to attempt to survive, and this required memorialization. Yet when it would all be over, it would not be over: the Soviet regime of terror still reigned.
Nelsons, born in Latvia 39 years ago when it was still very much under Russian occupation, should understand that subtext, as hard as it may be to find. I’m not sure we heard it this morning. Nevertheless, the orchestral playing was spectacular.
Dvořák, Bach, Prokofiev
My second concert of the day at the Festival took me over the river to the Mozarteum, where the Camerata Salzburg took the stage. A fine chamber orchestra, they provided a fuller sound than their numbers might have indicated. On the podium, the young Italian Lorenzo Viotti generally had a clear idea of what he wanted to present, and the orchestra generally followed him – but he may need more seasoning.
The indubitable star of the evening was the soloist, a young Armenian violinist (apparently 32 years old, although he looks even younger): Sergey Khachatryan, who confidently delivered Beethoven‘s soaring concerto. His tone remained warm, but edgy enough to not ever become too sweet, masterfully expressing Beethoven’s lines. This work is normally a series of dialogues between the soloist and individual members of the orchestra, but Viotti chose to move them all to the same side of the conversation, with the violinst first among equals in presenting to the audience. While this may have worked for the first movement, and maybe some of the third, it broke down in the more thinly-orchestrated middle movement, the orchestra not providing the appropriate accompaniment – often disjointed – while Khachatryan forged on regardless.
A triumphant applause enticed Khachatryan back out for an encore: an arrangement of an Armenian folk song, in which he sang several octaves of wistful melody on his instrument.
After the intermission, Viotti and the Camerata shed Khachatryan and gave us Schumann‘s third symphony. Viotti’s exuberance – to match the music, of course – did lead to some ragged edges with the orchestra not quite all together. But when they did come together they crafted a bold and evocative tone poem depicting Schumann’s delight at his arrival on the Rhine.
Bruckner, Schubert, Mozart
The 2017 Salzburg Festival has begun, and I opened my festival-going with a Bruckner mass for a Sunday morning. Bruckner’s Mass #2 was a personal work – although he was well into his forties when he composed it, he had only recently begun writing larger works and had not yet left his job as the cathedral organist in the provinces to begin his career Vienna.
The mass, for choir and a limited wind ensemble, opens with clear inspiration from the 16th-century master church composer, Palestrina, who had entered mystic legend as the man who had saved music from a papal ban and was a particular favorite of Bruckner’s then-boss, the Bishop of Linz. But by the time he reached the middle Credo section, Bruckner had found his own idiom, transcending music in the 19th century as Palestrina had done three hundred years before. A brief return to Palestrina in the Sanctus led to a search for chromaticism in the winds, moving around their accompaniment of a chorus harking back to traditional form. The devout Bruckner had scored a triumph, which would help propel his career outside the Church.
The Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir and Salzburg’s Mozarteum Orchestra performed with distinction in the Mozarteum’s Great Hall, under the baton of the rising young Lithuanian star Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla, demonstrating a mastery of both idioms reflected in the work: the traditional polyphony of Palestrina and the superimposed chromatic experimentalism of Bruckner inspired both by his predecessor and by his own piety.
The second half of the concert worked less well. Schubert‘s Stabat Mater, composed for a Church commission when he was 19, set not the Catholic Latin liturgical work, but rather a German-language poem by Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock inspired by the Catholic work but reworked into a German Protestant vision. Unsurprisingly, the Catholic Church rejected Schubert’s work. That it also went unperformed elsewhere during his lifetime may represent that it’s not actually very good. Derivational of both Haydn and Mozart, it fails to match the quality of either, and also lacks spirituality in the way Bruckner’s deceptively simple music did. Three soloists known primarily, appropriately enough given the composer, for singing Lieder joined orchestra and chorus: Christiane Karg, Martin Mitterrutzner, and Michael Nagy, and all excelled. No, the failure of the work was not due to the performers, but really to the work itself.
Gražinytė-Tyla then went directly with no pause (indeed, while Schubert’s Amens were still floating in the room) into the final work, Mozart‘s short Ave Verum Corpus. Although brief, it had just enough notes, and while Mozart had long since left the Church in spirit (if not officially), he captured the necessary simple and straightforward spirituality, in the same manner as the hymn to Isis and Osiris in his opera Zauberflöte. This very personal spirituality was admired by, among others, a young Anton Bruckner, and therefore served as an appropriate bookend for the morning’s program.
Mozart, Strauss, Brahms, Kreisler
Our annual board of directors weekend gave us the opportunity for two quite different classical chamber music concerts on Sunday (we also had a jazz trio performing rearranged renditions of classical works on Saturday – but I don’t feel like I can write a meaningful review of jazz, even classically-inspired jazz; I will also omit a public review of the afternoon classical chamber concert, as I do not publicly review all of the private concerts we host, and that particular concert resulted from a peculiar request from a specific donor).
For the Sunday matinée, three members of the Vienna Philharmonic (accompanied by one of their wives, on piano) came to our magical palace, Schloß Leopoldskron. They selected the first allegro movement from each of the piano quartet #1 in E-flat by Wolfgang Amadé Mozart and of the piano quartet in c by Richard Strauss, and the complete piano quartet #1 in g by Johannes Brahms (and a miniature, “Little Vienna March” by Fritz Kreisler, as an encore). I got to introduce the concert.
The selection of works by Mozart and Strauss was obvious: both had themselves performed in Schloß Leopoldskron. Prince Archbishop Leopold von Firmian, who built Leopoldskron, was the patron of Mozart’s father (also Leopold), and the Archbishop’s son (officially “nephew” since Catholic archbishops should technically not have sons), the second owner of the palace, was an early patron of the young Wolfgang. A century and a half later, Max Reinhardt owned the palace and founded the Salzburg Festival in one of its rooms, together with a small group of his good friends, including Strauss, a frequent guest.
However, as Mozart did not compose piano quartets before he left Salzburg, and Strauss did not compose any after he started visiting, we ended up with late Mozart and early Strauss, neither from their Salzburg periods. Mozart was at his pinnacle for this work, and Strauss still experimental on his way up, but the musicians deftly produced two very distinct styles.
The excitement continued for the Brahms. Neither this work nor this composer had any special meaning – it was simply something they enjoyed playing. While Brahms can be exceptionally dull, this piece – or at least this performance – showed non-stop excitement (aided perhaps by unexpected roaring thunder outside). The tradition-bound Brahms demonstrated that he could write with passion if he broke with tradition – he was not incapable of originality, just generally afraid of it. This piece, in scoring, pacing, and self-referential variations skipping among all four movements was original. To prepare for the concert, I had listened to several versions of this work on line, and none excited me – presumably only the Vienna Philharmonic has musicians capable of making this piece sound quite so special.
Christoph von Dohnányi once famously explained that “the Viennese never give technique a priority. They always try to achieve the musical sense, and by doing this they actually go as far as they can in a technical respect. But they would never sacrifice natural music-making to technical necessities.” (Music director in Cleveland at the time he made those comments, Dohnányi contrasted the Philharmonic with his own orchestra, which he described as giving technically perfect performances of music, and so his greatest frustration in Cleveland was trying to get his orchestra to perform more like the Vienna Philharmonic). The Philharmonic, I quipped, may be the Salzburg Global Seminar of orchestras.
Kutavičius, The Gates of Jerusalem
The Salzburg Landestheater‘s music director Mirga Gražinytė-Tyla decided to conclude her tenure here with two works by her Lithuanian countryman Bronius Kutavičius. Knowing nothing about him, I bought a ticket for one – his oratorio “The Gates of Jerusalem” – and figured I would then decide whether to get a ticket for the other. Having now wasted 80 minutes and 26 Euros, there won’t be a second ticket.
Although Jerusalem has more than four gates, Kutavičius only made four (perhaps we should be thankful – 12 gates would have presumably lasted four hours): East, North, South, West. Stylistically, he drew inspiration for each movement from music coming from each of those directions: Japan, Ancient Lithuania, Africa, and the Western Church. Each movement was indeed quite different (the Japanese-inspired one involved playing string instruments incorrectly, including scraping something against the strings inside a piano). What they all had in common, however, was mind-numbing repetition. Kutavičius came up with an idea for each movement and then repeated it for twenty minutes. Although none of the movements reflected the musical language of Ravel’s Bolero, in some respects this oratorio used the same logic as that endlessly awful work, never understanding when enough is enough.
The only movement that partially worked was the African one (the South Gate), with spirited solo singing by Elliot Carlton Hines. But even this was interminable. At the end of the curtain call, Hines reprised part of this, which was welcome because the abbreviated reprisal was indeed the right length. What a shame Kutavičius did not think to edit his own work.
The setting for tonight’s performance, in Salzburg’s University Church, allowed the chorus and orchestra to move around and explore the resilient acoustics. I think highly of Gražinytė-Tyla’s conducting, and her infectious smile permeated the evening. But while patriotic she made a poor choice of music to champion.
Weil, Aufstieg und Fall der Stadt Mahagonny
It has been aeons since I last saw Kurt Weill‘s opera Mahagonny, although I do listen to recordings not infrequently. But a production at the Salzburg Landestheater gave me the chance to revisit it as a stage production. I do remember many years ago finding a staging at the Met compelling, but whether that was a functional staging or just my youthful enthusiasm I am not now sure.
Certainly this evening’s staging was not compelling theater. The staging was contemporary, which was actually fine for this opera, transferring the scene from Marxist commentary on the world in 1930 to 2017’s obsession with new technology and social media. I am not sure that was wrong. It may just be that, on further review, the libretto by Berthold Brecht – although often quite clever within individual numbers – failed as drama. Perhaps it’s all just Marxist gobbledygook after all.
But the Landestheater’s ensemble cast clearly had fun on stage, which always helps. And Weill’s whimsical music is always a pleasure (why I do so enjoy listening to this opera, after all). The Mozarteum Orchestra in the pit, under Adrian Kelly, completely captured the twists of the score, contorting their sounds to match the mood, which they managed to keep spirited, almost mocking Brecht’s moralistic satire. Where this production failed as theater, it succeeded as music thanks to the team of singers, instrumentalists, and conductor who understood exactly what they needed to do.
The Mozarteum Orchestra presented the final Sunday matinee of its subscription series this year. It’s a fine provincial band, on a par with Rotterdam Philharmonic or the City of Birmingham Symphony or Zurich’s Tonhalle Orchestra (which itself gave me two and a half years’ enjoyment during my time living there from 2000-2002, although I have not had a chance to hear it again in well over a decade).
Salzburg’s own great local cellist Clemens Hagen joined guest conductor Constantinos Carydis and the orchestra for Schotakowitsch‘s cello concerto. Together, they depicted a desolate Russian wasteland, where every soul struggles to survive life in the Evil Empire. Schostakowitsch’s own signature notes D-S-C-H permeated the whole score, pushing forwards as those around him had been liquidated by the brutal regime. Here he was defiant, but kept his head down: soloist and orchestra were never over-bearing, and kept their performance almost restrained, and with an edge to it that Russian performers would understand. The meaning was clear. The principal hornist sat amidst the viole to engage Hagen in more dialogue: was he hiding there as a spy, or was he simply a trusted friend out of place? The music kept this ambiguous, indeed as life must have been in the Soviet Union, or indeed Russia today.
On an ominous note, in the middle of the slow movement a member of the bass section collapsed on stage. The music stopped while he was carried off, and then the movement started over. After the intermission they announced that he had merely fainted and was fine, but the optics added to the somber mood. Hagen tried to cut this with a somewhat more up-beat encore, which sounded like it may have been Bach, but really we needed nothing else.
The Mahler first symphony after the intermission was a bit anti-climactic. The first movement launched with a certain dynamism. But then Carydis decided to insert the so-called “Blumine” movement – the bit Mahler extracted from an earlier work he had ripped up and inserted here, only to decide almost immediately that it didn’t belong here either and so he removed again. When the Norrköpingers performed this symphony here last month, they gave us the “Blumine” movement as an encore and made it work as a stand-alone fragment, but inserting it here demonstrated why Mahler rejected it. This reading was less compelling and also sapped the emotion and drive from the entire symphony. When the usual second movement (now third) came along, the orchestra had not quite recovered from the pointless diversion. For the rest of the symphony, Carydis tried to re-capture the initial dynamism by modulating the volume, keeping some passages unnaturally quiet and then exploding in others. The orchestra responded well, but I still wonder what they might have done had they not lost the momentum in the “Blumine.”
Tschaikowsky, Bach, Elgar
Back to the Great Festival House for the third night in a row – but this time a different orchestra, the Stuttgart Philharmonic on the stage, under Israeli-American conductor Yoel Gamzou. The concert was merely OK – far less rewarding than the Norrköpingers who appeared the previous two nights.
The first half of the concert featured Russian violinist Andrey Baranov, who may be the first Russian I have heard who seems not to get the Tschaikowsky violin concerto. He came out with a halfway sugary tone (not quite all the way in that direction, but still a bit too much), which contrasted – actually, more conflicted – with the orchestra’s harder edge. Indeed the orchestra sounded more authentically Russian than Baranov. After the first movement, Baranov and Gamzou conferred briefly with each other, which seems to have resulted in Baranov trying something different for the second and third movements – trying to achieve a more striking sound, however, Baranov was not quite authentic to himself, and still did not quite mesh with the orchestra although Gamzou clearly also tried to make adjustments.
Baranov gave us two solo encores (not sure what the first one was, but he told us the second was Bach), in which he reverted to his original sweet tone. Playing without orchestral accompaniment, where he determined the sound, gave him a little more success. But I still wouldn’t rush out to specifically see him perform.
After the break came Elgar‘s Second Symphony. I suppose there is a reason this work is rarely performed. It’s long (almost an hour), big (full orchestra plus), and never gets to much of a point. Periodically the brass try to get a melody going, but then the music just decides it isn’t necessary and wanders off aimlessly. For a tonal and late-romantic work it really should say something, but fails repeatedly.
That said, the orchestra sounded very good. Gamzou, a protege of Carlo Maria Giulini, seemed to have inherited much of the orchestral control of his mentor – with broad but clear sweeps of his body and cascading arms, that the orchestra itself responded well to, with a clear sympathy between conductor and musicians.
Beethoven, Bruckner, Larrson
The second evening with the Norrköping Symphony Orchestra in Salzburg’s Great Festival House did nothing to change my positive impression of this orchestra from yesterday. Once again the orchestra members produce sounds in full color, with a sense of time and space, not so much playing instruments as using them to create tonal portraits.
The young violinist Christine-Maria Höller from Salzburg’s Mozarteum conservatory joined the orchestra for Beethoven‘s violin concerto. Although a little rough to start, she quickly warmed into the work, with a strong and determined tone which effortless entered into dialogue with the different instruments Beethoven highlighted in the orchestra, and with the orchestra as a whole. Conductor Florian Krumpöck worked the orchestra with her, deftly crafting the individual sounds and blending them together. Beethoven’s brilliant concerto is a conversation with many voices, but the trick is to ensure that none of them get lost, and that all of them have something clever to say. That they accomplished.
Höller then danced back on stage for a flamenco encore.
After the intermission came Bruckner‘s Fourth Symphony. The lush strings provided an earthy basis for the ongoing dialogue between flute and horn that carries its way throughout this symphony, while the rest of the brass soared above them with a heavenly chorale. This symphony came across as the logical continuation of the Beethoven concerto, a series of fascinating conversations among instruments. On the whole, though, Krumpöck’s slow tempi (although they work for some) did not alwyas allow this longer conversation to press forward, sometimes straying from the topic and losing interest. Nevertheless, this was a happy conversation, with a shiny bright outcome.
The strings gave us another encore – a romance for string orchestra by Lars-Erik Larsson. Although not a dance, these strings periodically could not help themselves, and the Austrian Krumpöck perhaps had them inserting a charming lilt, which they could certainly handle.
Mendelssohn, Lecuona, Stravinsky, Mahler
Schubert, Brahms, Strauss
Herbert von Karajan founded the Salzburg Easter Festival exactly 50 years ago, presumably to showcase himself and his outsized Nazi ego. Today Christian Thielemann, Karajan’s pompous plodding Prussian protege presides. But as I happened to be in town and a seat was available, I went tonight for the sake of good music, in this case two of the few original works in the French repertory: Fauré‘s Requiem and Saint-Saëns‘ Symphony #3.
The unquestionably shining stars this evening were the members of the Bavarian Radio Chorus. Although already in their places on stage, they opened the Requiem with such great delicacy that they sounded like a backstage choir, their voices gradually growing over half an hour until reaching Paradise in the final stanza. Fauré, a church organist by profession, had played more than his share of funerals, and rather than writing a massive mass instead crafted a lullaby. The chorus understood the idiom perfectly. While the two named soloists – soprano Anna Prohaska and baritone Adrian Eröd – got name recognition, they were at their best when they fit in with the chorus (Eröd did this better).
The Staatskapelle Dresden stayed out of the way as well. Primarily an opera orchestra, they understand how to support singers rather than taking the spotlight for themselves. Thielemann, their current music director, presumably has them well-drilled, but tonight we had their principal guest conductor, Myung-Whun Chung. Chung is second-rate at best, but innocuous – a decent accompanist who has spent much of his career waving a stick at inferior French orchestras. The Staatskapelle remains a fine orchestra (I last heard them under Thielemann in the Musikverein about six years ago), but it is also clear why the Dresden public was so overwhelmed during the Philadelphia Orchestra’s visit to the Semper Opera House in 2015 (which I had the great fortune to attend) – Thielemann and Chung will never get their orchestra ratcheted up to the same level of emotion or enthusiasm.
After the intermission we moved on to the Saint-Saëns symphony, where the orchestra was not accompanying anyone but had to fill the Great Festival Hall itself. Chung also started off quietly and built up the drama. But while this orchestra supplied the drama – a symphony of songs without singers – they missed some nuances and some portions dragged. The woodwinds in particular came across a bit tongue-tied.
The symphony itself is also inspired by funerals, but where Fauré produced a lullaby, Saint-Saëns made a triumph, with the most famous portions taking the Dies Irae chant and flipping it into major key. Cameron Carpenter supplied the organ solos – unfortunately, Salzburg’s Great Festival House does not have an organ, so they brought on an electric one with speaker amplification. This was probably not the most brilliantly-planned concert (where an organ is so central to a work, they should really find out in advance before setting the program if the hall even has one!).
This was my first time at the Easter Festival. One of the first things I noticed when arriving at the Great Festival House was that the crowd who turned out for the Easter Festival were not the usual suspects. There was a whole lot of black tie and a suspicious absence of Austrian Tracht. The accents were also overwhelmingly from north of the border.