Merry Christmas!

Luciano Pavarotti and his father, Fernando, singing Cesar Franck's "Panis Angelicus." Modena Cathedral, 1978. Ninety seconds of heaven.

New York Philharmonic vs. Gilbert Kaplan: An Update

Several new developments in the throwdown between members of the New York Philharmonic and the supporters of conductor Gilbert Kaplan. Steve Smith, the critic who reviewed the original concert for the Times, published a lengthy mea culpa on his blog in which he admits to cutting a short phrase from his piece that described Kaplan as the co-editor of the critical edition of Mahler's Second, and therefore slightly undercutting Kaplan's authority on the piece.

Norman Lebrecht, who freely professes his admiration and friendship with Kaplan, takes the Philharmonic out behind the woodshed for another whipping:

The New York Philharmonic has come out of this seedy episode looking like a rabble without a cause. When its music director invites a man to conduct a concert for the benefit of the orchestra's pension fund, it is worse than just bad manners for the players to insult him to their heart's content. It is a symptom of exceedingly bad management, or an organisation that has run out of control. Somebody needs to get a grip, to state a position, to invoke a principle of collective responsibility.

It is no surprise that Riccardo Muti turned down the offer to become music director in favour of Chicago, that Simon Rattle won't go near the band with a bargepole and that the only person with enough insurance to succeed Lorin Maazel is the son of two members of the orchestra who think they can keep the hyenas from his door. What a shambles.

Trumpet Bloopers Spread Holiday Cheer

In case you need to add some holiday cheer to your life--and the Messiah on crack wasn't enough--here's a site devoted to trumpet bloopers. I'm not talking about the random cracked note or intonation issue. I'm talking about total flameouts--outrageous and spectacular disasters that were miraculously captured on tape. All are worth a listen, but there are a few that absolutely can't be missed:

The opening of the Hummel Trumpet Concerto. Ridiculous on so many levels. Hasn't quite mastered the Classical style.  

The end of the cadenza in the Haydn Trumpet Concerto. This poor guy actually sounded pretty decent for a while, but runs out of steam at a very inopportune moment.

A canon by Orlando Gibbons. As the original site observes, you can't fake a canon. One of these guys falls off the tracks and predictably can't recover. About three-quarters of the way through, there's a stunning series of parallel fourths that must have turned Bach over in his grave. Probably would have been better to just throw in the towel.  

New York Philharmonic Musicians Not Impressed by Gilbert Kaplan

A few weeks ago, on December 8, the New York Philharmonic performed under the baton of Gilbert Kaplan for the first time. Given the reaction from some of the orchestra's musicians, it will probably be the last time as well.

An article by Dan Wakin in yesterday's New York Times reports that a number of the Philharmonic's players were extremely unhappy with the conducting of Kaplan, an amateur with only one piece in his repertoire: Mahler's Second Symphony (Resurrection). They ran crying to Zarin Mehta, the orchestra's president, and one player, trombonist David Finlayson, published a stinging indictment on his personal blog in which he calls Kaplan a "woefully sad farce."

The episode has raised some eyebrows among prominent classical music bloggers. The always opinionated Norman Lebrecht takes Finlayson and the Times to task for, among other things, airing dirty laundry that should have remained behind closed doors. Opera Chic agrees, questioning the professionalism such behavior. Both also wonder, as I do, why the Times devoted so much real estate to musicians complaining about their conductor. That's not news. It would be news if musicians didn't complain about their conductors. 

The real question here is why the Philharmonic doesn't have more control over it's players. I don't think they want to make a habit out of their musicians spouting off every time a new conductor rolls into Avery Fisher, especially one who doesn't measure up to their lofty standards, whatever they may be. In almost any other profession, an employee publicly excoriating his boss in such a manner would surely lead to dismissal. I know the relationship between orchestra and conductor is complex--only a cursory look back at the 20th century will prove that--and must include a great amount of collegial and collaborative spirit. But at the end of the day, orchestra musicians are employed to realize the artistic goals of the conductor. 

When players engage in this sort of behavior, though, I'm not sure anyone comes out for the better--the players look ill-tempered and difficult, waiting for a conductor to foul up so they can scold him on the Internet; the administration looks foolish for hiring someone the musicians don't approve of; and the conductor looks incompetent, whether he actually is or not. Kaplan doesn't have a career's backlog of performances, score study, and training, but it's not a reach to say that he knows Mahler 2 about as well as anyone in the world. I'm not sure if Finlayson and others are right. Maybe the guy is a hack, but he was good enough for the London Symphony and Vienna Philharmonic--both of which Gramophone magazine recently rated as superior orchestras to the NY Phil--so I'm betting he was good enough for the New York Philharmonic as well.

(For the record, I've never heard either of Kaplan's recordings or seen him in person. But he has received a number of positive reviews, including the Times review of this very concert.)

Messiah Organist on Crack

There are some instruments and passages where you can mess up and have it go almost entirely unnoticed. Unfortunately for one poor fellow, the organ part at the end of the Hallelujah Chorus is not one of them. Probably one of the funniest things I've ever heard.....Messiah on Crack

Wall Street Journal: Holiday Music Can Be Annoying (Duh!)

A few days ago, the Wall Street Journal published an article about holiday music. In it, Daniel J. Levitin touches on the origins of music as a "shared cultural experience"--our ancestors used music as a ritual to add special meaning to particular days--and the subconscious effect it can have on consumers, causing them to more liberally open their wallets. The piece also addresses a much more pressing issue: Why is holiday music so damn annoying?

When we like a piece of music, it has to balance predictability with surprise, familiarity with novelty. Our brains become bored if we know exactly what is coming next, and frustrated if we have no idea where the song is taking us. Songs that are immediately appealing are not typically those that contain the most surprises. We like them at first and then grow tired of them. . . 

Holiday music is irritating because the sort of music that appeals to people of disparate backgrounds and ages is going to tend to be harmonically unsurprising. Unwanted sound in general (think of the incessant drip-drip-drip in the night when you're trying to get to sleep) or unwanted music in particular is not waterboarding, but it is a kind of torture.

Sounds simple and reasonable, but I have my own theory. Most of the ubiquitous holiday music we hear today--on the radio and on endless loops in malls, offices, etc.--is not the traditional carols that we sing with family. Rather, it's often an adulterated version by some pop singer who desperately needs to sell a few records. The purity of the original carol is mangled by corny vocals, laughable modulations, and the general stench of commercialization, and the sacred, historical connection we feel is severed by producers who dump in a few synths, guitars, and backup singers. Don't get me wrong, I'm not walking around every day singing "Jingle Bells," but there are a few simple carols that I find genuinely moving--"Silent Night" and "O Holy Night" come to mind. Of course, when Amy Grant or Faith Hill takes a stab at them, a little part of me dies inside.

Bah, humbug!

YouTube Symphony Orchestra: One Million Hits and Counting

It seems that the YouTube Symphony Orchestra has provoked some interest in the online community. The introductory video, uploaded only one month ago, recently topped one million viewers, and a video of the Tan Dun piece (below) is currently just short of 400,000.

Even some of the masterclasses and personal conducting videos are hovering around 20,000 hits. I'm not sure how much wisdom you can impart with a 10-minute clip, but some help is better than none at all. As an example, here's the first violin masterclass.

There are also a few bonus videos, including words from Lang Lang and Valery Gergiev, and a clip from the YouTube launch party of mezzo-soprano Susan Graham singing Mahler's aching "Liebst du um Schönheit" from his Rückertlieder song cycle. She's accompanied at the piano by MTT himself.

So far so good for the YouTube Symphony Orchestra. Stay tuned for further updates.

The YouTube Symphony Orchestra

Getting to Carnegie Hall used to take practice, practice, practice. Now, all it takes is a camcorder and access to the Internet.

Google made a splash in the classical music world when it recently announced the creation of the YouTube Symphony Orchestra. (The story was picked up by the New York Times and the Washington Post, among others.) Essentially, the initiative has two main components. First, YouTubers can download the sheet music to a four-minute orchestral piece written for the occasion by Tan Dun and record themselves performing it on their instrument. The best submissions will be mixed together, creating--in theory--a complete performance of the entire score. Second, users can record "auditions," which will be uploaded to YouTube and judged by professional musicians from the Berlin Philharmonic, London Symphony, and other major orchestras. The best performers will be flown to New York City--on Google's dime--to perform Tan's piece at Carnegie Hall under the baton of Michael Tilson Thomas. 

So maybe it will still take a little musical talent to get to Carnegie Hall.

More information on the YTSO can be found on this newly launched Web site. It also includes videos from Tan, pianist Lang Lang, and two dozen instrumental masterclasses with members of the London Symphony.

The program sounds intriguing, at the very least, though I'm not sure if it will make classical music any cooler with the YouTube Generation. But it certainly can't hurt. Anything that can help orchestras get even a handful of young people interested in their performances is overwhelmingly positive. 

As a committed music nerd, however, I love YouTube. It's an invaluable archive for historic performances and legendary performers. Carlos Kleiber conducting Strauss? No problem. Not that Strauss, the waltzing Strauss. That's here and here. How about Sir Georg Solti and the Vienna Philharmonic performing their epic Ring cycle? Here are some outtakes and rare looks at the recording process. There's also a wealth of rehearsal footage from nearly all the major conductors of the last century. The four-part series with Hebert von Karajan and the Vienna Symphony working on the first movement of Schumann's Fourth Symphony is a master class on efficient rehearsal technique--a conductor who knows exactly what he wants and exactly how to get it.

I, like many others, have gotten lost on YouTube for hours, and the YouTube Symphony will surely be just one more way to lose track of time.

Mozart's Dirty Mouth

Hollywood biographies may not be the best source for accurate historical information, but Amadeus seems to get it right, at least in part: Its humorous portrayal of Mozart as a vulgar, sex-crazed genius is supported the composer's own words. In addition to a series of shockingly explicit letters to an early girlfriend, Mozart's description, in a letter to his father, of one of his clavier students is particularly unflattering:

If a painter wanted to portray the devil in the life, he would have to choose her face. She is as fat as a farm-wench, perspires so that you feel inclined to vomit, and goes about so scantily clad that really you can read as plain as print: 'Pray, do look here.' True, there is enough to see, in fact, quite enough to strike one blind; but--one is thoroughly well punished for the rest of the day if one is unlucky enough to let one's eyes wander in that direction. . . . So loathsome, dirty and horrible!

Ouch.... 

Shameless Self-Promotion: A Book Review

Here's a link to my review of Herbert von Karajan: A Life in Pictures, an extensive coffee table book that visually documents the ubiquitous maestro's life and career. It appears as an online-only review on the League of American Orchestra's Web site. 

The review is only a reflection of this particular book, which is an editorial embarrassment. Even though it's not popular to admit this today, I'm a huge Karajan fan. Critics across the world have spent much of 2008 lashing out at Karajan, his music, and his hypnotic cult of personality. I, of course, did not know the man–sounds like he could be a real nightmare to work with–but I know his music. He has certainly recorded his share of stinkers: a commemorative set from EMI features some of the absolute worst Mozart, Schubert, and Johann Strauss I've ever heard, and some of his later performances could be particularly gooey. But many of his discs are still reference recordings–absolute essentials in any serious collection. The first Beethoven cycle, Tristan, Salome, the last four Sibelius symphonies, the legendary Bruckner Eighth and Mahler Ninth. I have many more personal favorites, but these recordings are unimpeachable masterpieces. He may have been a repulsive human, but he was a genius on the podium. 

Critics Can't Agree on Salonen's Hollywood Bowl Farewell

Part of the fun in discussing a concert is comparing your own reactions to those of others in the audience. Do they share your perceptions and musical sensibilities? Or did they come away with an entirely different experience? If your reaction was particularly strong–"That was the best/worst performance I've every heard"–and someone else disagrees, your inevitable reaction is surely some variation of: "What performance was he listening to?" or "I can't believe we were at the same concert?" or "Did he hear the same thing I heard?"

I didn't hear Esa-Pekka Salonen and the Los Angeles Philharmonic perform Mahler's gargantuan Eighth Symphony on Tuesday night, but I know two people who did: Tim Mangan and Anthony Tommasini. Mangan is the music critic at the OC Register and Tommasini is chief music critic at The New York Times. Both reviewed the concert in the September 10 edition of their respective papers, and their reactions couldn't be more divergent.

Tommasini praises Salonen's "urgent, sweeping and nuanced account of the score," but his review is primarily a historical and critical analysis of the music itself. He does, however, make some complimentary observations about Salonen's reading:

Mr. Salonen's performance managed to convey the piece as a whole, as a cogent entity. While the sudden emotional shifts of the music came though, both the passages of ruminative quiet and the tumultuous outbursts, so did the compelling narrative arch. Maybe it was the informal outdoor atmosphere, but this epic symphony just swept right by, seeming almost succinct.

He closes with some kind words for the vocal soloists.

Mangan, on the other hand, is much less enthused, almost apologetic in his negative reaction:

Musicians often bite off more than they can chew. It's a problem for a critic who would like to acknowledge honorable but who much also report results. In choosing this work to perform at the Bowl, Salonen may have overestimated both his ability to get this many musicians together in limited rehearsal time as well as the venue's capabilities for doing the work justice.

Which is to say that Tuesdays performance sounded like an approximation, at least much of the time.

. . .

We don't need to get into the performance in much detail. It sounded like a second run-through, more or less, with a good deal of ensemble work left to do. In a word, it was sloppy.

Ouch. That's a stinging indictment. For an orchestra of the LA Phil's calibre, calling a performance a sloppy second run-through is about as bad as it can get. But how did Tommasini miss that? After all, a messy performance is a messy performance; there's little room for interpretation. Either the musicians played together, or they didn't. 

I suspect that Tommasini is fully aware that the orchestra played poorly, but he inexplicably chooses not to address it. Instead, he indirectly acknowledges and dismisses the substandard performance with one line: "An outdoor, amplified performance of this daunting work . . . is not an occasion for close critical scrutiny." 

In my opinion, this line is a cop out. Hearing a youth orchestra valiantly attempt Mahler's Eighth is not an occasion for close critical scrutiny. Hearing an understudy make her Met debut in the middle of the 2nd Act of Tristan is not an occasion for close critical scrutiny. Hearing a major American orchestra and its celebrated music director perform one of the epic works in the symphonic repertoire is unquestionably an occasion for close critical scrutiny. Critics have an obligation to fully report on the concerts of leading ensembles. If an orchestra like the LA Phil doesn't have its act together on stage, say so. Period. Critics like Tommasini should hold world-class artists accountable to the highest standards of performance, not make excuses when they fall short.

Wagner According to John Adams

The August 25 issue of The New Yorker features a revealing autobiographical essay by John Adams. In it, Adams recounts his formative years as a struggling, avant-garde composer in San Francisco. Near the end of the article, he describes his "Ah-ha!" moment: a mountain drive listening to Götterdämmerung.

What Wagner cared about was making the intensity of his emotions palpable to the listener. His harmonies, restless and forever migrating toward a new tonal center, moved between tension and resolution in an uncanny way that constantly propelled the listener forward. The melodic leaps, always singable, gave shape and direction to the churning harmonies beneath. This was not just music about desire. It was desire itself, and the emotional and sensual power it possessed was inescapable. Wagner's music was grounded in enormous technical and intellectual sophistication, but its overriding effect was something that, I realized, had been absent from my avant-garde experiments: a sense of ravishment.

Finale to Mozart's "Le Nozze di Figaro"

Here's the final scene from Le Nozze di Figaro, Mozart's comedic masterpiece. In it, the Count kneels at the Countess's feet and asks for her forgiveness ("Contessa perdono"), which she grants. Mozart's accompaniment here is sublime, one of the most heavenly moments in the history of music.

 

This excerpt also appears in one of the many powerful scenes from the film Amadeus.  As Salieri (F. Murray Abraham) recalls a performance of Figaro, he expresses his deepening bitterness, but acknowledges that the music is nothing short of genius. His description of the moment is fitting: "I heard the music of true forgiveness filling the theater, conferring on all who sat there perfect absolution." 

Mozart's Power According to Schubert

I just ran across this description of listening to Mozart. It's from a June 13, 1816 diary entry of the great Franz Schubert:

As from afar the magic notes of Mozart's music still gently haunt me. . . . They show us in the darkness of this life a bright, clear, lovely distance, for which we hope with confidence. O Mozart, immortal Mozart, how many, oh how endlessly many such comforting perceptions of a brighter and better life hast though brought to our souls!

That's high and eloquent praise from the composer of Winterreisse and Der Doppelgänger, a man intimately familiar with what he calls "the darkness of this life."

Lebrecht Blames Orchestras for Disappearing Music Critics

In recent months the steady decline in classical music coverage has typically been blamed on the misguided newspaper editors and executives who just don't recognize the value of the arts in our modern Internet society. Not surprisingly, Norman Lebrecht has a radically different opinion, savaging the current state of American symphony orchestras and their culpability on this issue:

As editor, try explaining to your chief executive why you are holding a full staff job to report on an art that never makes news, an art that plays the same old music, year after year, with the same parade of expressionless faces on the platform. An art whose audience is greying and unattractive to advertisers. An art whose music director is an absentee European and whose few glamor soloists will only agree to talk about their new record or hair makeover.

. . .

It's not the newspapers that are to blame but the orchestras that over two decades failed to make enough news of any wider relevance to enable editors, many with the best intentions, to retain their music critics. Symphonic stasis is not the sole reason that music criticism is being extinguished across America, but if anyone is point fingers the first cause must surely be the stultifying complacency of American orchestras in recent years.

Lebrecht's diatribe seems to be in response to a recent blog post from Henry Fogel, former head of the League of American Orchestras, in which he berates newspaper leaders for failing in their civic responsibility to cover the arts. Indeed, Lebrecht calls out Fogel (though without explicitly naming him) and completely rejects his views: "As usual, the ASOL got it wrong," Lebrecht writes.

Unfortunately, there's probably a lot of truth in what Lebrecht says. Classical music coverage is a two-way street. No institution should simple expect unmerited media attention. Would the New York Times send a reporter to the court house if the hall were empty? Probably not. That's not to suggest that I believe orchestra concerts are comparable to deserted buildings. On the contrary, I think there's practically limitless value in classical music. But I'm very biased, and in today's media climate, editors are undeniably faced with difficult choices.

I am, however, certain of one thing: The media coverage of Gustavo Dudamel's first concert as director of the LA Philharmonic will surely be intense. While it will be gratifying to see classical music elevated to a position of greater social relevance, in a strange way, it could simultaneously validate Lebrecht's position.

Beethoven's Power According to Solomon

I just finished reading Maynard Solomon's meticulous, fascinating, and revealing biography of Beethoven, and I was struck by a discussion from the final chapter. In it, Solomon mentions how modern generations–particularly those following the Second World War–have turned away from works such as the Ninth Symphony, which in its unsurpassed beauty and idealism, supposedly "anaesthetizes the anguish and the terror of modern life, thereby standing in the way of a realistic perception of society." This view was immortalized in the works of serialist composers such as Pierre Boulez and in the famous plea of Adrian Leverkühn, a fictional composer in Thomas Mann's novel Doctor Faustus: "I want to to revoke the Ninth Symphony."

Solomon, however, completely rejects this position in a remarkable passage about the optimistic, life-affirming possibilities inherent in Beethoven's music:

"The fatal (and destructive) misconception underlying such attitudes is this: if we lose our awareness of the transcendent realms of play, beauty, and kinship that are portrayed in the great affirmative works of our culture, if we lose the reconciling dream of the Ninth Symphony, there may remain no counterpoise against the engulfing terrors of civilization, nothing to set against Auschwitz and Vietnam as a paradigm of humanity's potentialities. Masterpieces of art are instilled with a surplus of constantly renewable energy–an energy that provides a motive force for changes in the relations between human beings–because they contain projections of human desires and goals that have not yet been achieved (which indeed may be unrealizable). . . . The symbols of perfection (which Schiller called "the effigies of [the] ideal")–the Ninth Symphony and the late quartets, the trumpet call of Fidelio, the "heiliger Dankgesang," the festal paradise of the Seventh Symphony, the Bacchic resurrection of the Eroica finale–these keep alive humanity's hopes and sustain faith in the possibilities of renewal." 

Beethoven may have been a deeply flawed person, but his music sets an impossibly high moral standard–a challenge for future generations to continually strive for the beauty and perfection that he realized through art.

The State of Classical Music Criticism: Bloggers' Views

Since my previous post, several of the most respected classical music bloggers have expressed their views on the continuing decline of arts criticism at major newspapers. Here are some relevant posts, all written with much more elegance and originality than I could ever hope to convey:

Marc Geelhoed, on the Internet's impact on newspaper criticism–here.

Norman Lebrecht, one of the most caustic and opinionated people on the Web–here, here, and here.

Tim Mangan–here.

Justin Davidson, discussing the slow death of newspapers–here.

Classical Music Criticism: Another One Bites the Dust

In the past week, the McClatchy Company, one of the country's leading newspaper publishers, put two more dents in the even-diminishing field of classical music criticism, firing critics at the Kansas City Star and the Miami Herald. Paul Horsley and Lawrence Johnson lost their jobs as a part of McClatchy's cost-cutting efforts.

As usual, people who actually value the arts are rushing to their defense, including Henry Fogel, former president of the League of American Orchestras and one of the most powerful people in the classical music industry. He blasts the firings in the June 27 entry of his blog, "On the Record:"

"It continues to amaze me that those who are in positions to shape the national agenda do not, in fact, give a damn about shaping anything. Instead of feeling a shred of responsibility to lead the country, to move national discussion beyond the realm of reality shows, sitcoms, and sound-bites, they exercise a stunning degree of follow-ship–putting their collective fingers in the air, sensing the current trends, and running to follow them."

I'd like to believe Fogel's words will make a difference, but this is merely a continuation of a disturbing trend. Even the New York Times bought out one of its veteran critics, Bernard Holland. Publishers simply do not care to promote culture when it does not fit conveniently into their balance sheets. 

Who will be next?

Update: The Washington Post has bucked the recent trend of slashing arts coverage, hiring Anne Midgette as its new full-time classical music critic. For the past seven months, she had been writing for the paper on an interim basis, filling in for the legendary Tim Page, who was teaching at USC. When Page left the Post for good, accepting a buyout, the paper quickly replaced him with Midgette. At least some publications have managed to get it right.

La Scala to Perform Global Warming Opera in 2011

Lorenzo da Ponte, Richard Wagner, and...Al Gore?

The former vice president, who originally shot into the public's consciousness when he invented the Internet, now joins the list of famous opera librettists. Milan's La Scala theater announced that it has commissioned a new opera, set to premiere in 2011, based on An Inconvenient Truth, Gore's book/film/slideshow. The music will be written by Italian composer Giorgia Battistelli. 

After winning an Academy Award and a Nobel Prize, it seems Gore can achieve anything once he sets his mind to it–except maybe the White House.

President Bush's New Career?

The music directorship is currently vacant at the National Symphony Orchestra, and it seems a new contender has thrown his hat into the ring. And after eight years as the leader of the free world, I think he's prepared for the pressures of the job.

At the recent White House Correspondents' Association Dinner, President Bush picked up a baton and led the United States Marine Corps Marching Band in Stars and Stripes Forever. Like him or hate him, at least he's got a sense of humor. This is priceless.

(Photo by Haraz N. Ghanbari/Associated Press)

Society for New Music Performs at Syracuse International Film Festival

When I go to a new film, I spend nearly as much time listening as I do watching. A compelling score can rescue an average movie, or transform an already great movie into an icon–Bernard Herrmann in Psycho, Ennio Morricone in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, John Williams in Jaws and Star Wars, to name a few. With much of the music in recent films (at least the one's I've seen) now maddeningly formulaic, soundtracks have, to my ears, drifted into mere background accompaniment. Thankfully, the Society for New Music and the Syracuse International Film Festival have teamed up to remind us that music is an active part of any movie, as much a character as anyone on screen. 

On Saturday night at the Everson Museum of Art, musicians from the Society presented composer Martin Matalon's original music for two films by Luis Bunuel: Las Hurdes (Land Without Bread) and Un Chien Andalou (An Andalusian Dog). As the scores were performed, the films were projected on stage, harkening back to the early days of cinema when live musicians provided the soundtrack to silent pictures.

Both films are surrealist, stretching–sometimes exceeding–the bounds of what is believable. So it was only fitting that the music did not explicitly coordinate with the action, instead creating an atmosphere that clarifies and augments the images on screen. In Las Hurdes, a documentary narrated by Malcolm Ingram about life in a remote region of Spain, the music, written for solo viola and electronics, helps us understand the difficult existence locals face every day. Surging melodic sweeps punctuated by violent attacks and electronic buildups complement the graphic shots of dead animals, sick villagers, and, most disturbingly, a dead child. Throughout, violist John Graham gave a committed, intense performance that embraced the score's darkness and extreme emotions.

The connection between sound and image proved more elusive in Un Chien Andalou, a film seemingly about nothing. Unlike Las Hurdes, it has no clear subject or plot, only a succession of unrelated, incomprehensible scenes. Had Matalon tried to write music that followed each shot, he would have created a manic, random score. Instead, he seemed to riff on specific moods and emotions: A heavy, ominous atmosphere emerged when a man began to grope a woman, but lasted well after the scene had changed. Conductor Heather Buchman led the octet of musicians in a crisp, driving performance.

The evening also included a screening of Holding Fast, a film by Mary Harron and John C. Walsh about life in Tibet. It featured music by Randall Woolf, but unfortunately it was prerecorded. The two live performances, however, were very provocative, sparking discussions–both positive and negative–amongst the audience. And even if some people didn't like the music, they were surely reminded of the importance of a film score. Maybe the next time people go to the Carousel for a movie, they will give its music a little extra thought.

Jon Vickers: Back by Popular Demand

After the overwhelming response (2 comments!!) to my last video of Jon Vickers being frighteningly good, I figured this would be a good follow-up. Vickers is known for portraying complex, emotionally-conflicted characters such as Tristan, Otello, and Florestan, but his legendary interpretation of Peter Grimes is surely his defining role. Against the composer's wishes, Vicker's turned Grimes into an explosive, violent brute, completely altering the public's perception of the outcast fisherman.

Here's Vickers performing Grimes's chilling final scene.

Vickers. Tristan. Enough Said.

I ran across this clip of Jon Vickers performing Tristan's death scene. The sound is terrible, and I'm not sold on the set or camera work, but the performance is terrifying. It's a complete loss of ego, total commitment to the character. His desperation and anguish are palpable. Vickers isn't merely portraying Tristan; he is Tristan.

Just another day at the office.

Ben and Debbie Show Finally Arrives for Met's "Tristan und Isolde"

After nearly three weeks, the Metropolitan Opera finally managed to get Ben Heppner and Deborah Voigt on stage at the same time.

This "dream team," which pairs two of today's leading Wagnerians, was scheduled to appear in six performances of Tristan und Isolde, but a well-documented series of illnesses left that plan in shambles. For those who shelled out the big bucks on any the first five nights, they were rewarded with at least one substitute; for those who shelled out the big bucks on Friday night (like me!!), they were rewarded with a gripping performance of historic importance.

Heppner, as the doomed Tristan, returned from a serious blood infection to deliver an astonishing tour de force. He is a heldentenor in the truest sense--a physically imposing singer with a commanding voice that slices through even the loudest orchestra with incredible ease. Many tenors begin to crumble during the punishing Act III monologue, but Heppner seemed to relish it, singing with delirious, shattering intensity. Moreover, he attacked each note with complete integrity and security; pure intonation was never in doubt, even in the most angular, exposed high notes. Remarkably, Heppner was just as strong–perhaps stronger–on Tristan's final note as he was, five hours earlier, on his first.

It took me an act to warm up to Voigt. She has two habits that initially bothered me: drifting flat at the end of long phrases and sliding up into high notes. Beginning in Act II, however, she was mesmerizing. Her sweet, lyrical voice, which was balanced with soaring, dynamic power, quickly erased all my reservations, particularly in the haunting love duet. As she and Heppner sat in darkness, silhouetted against a glowing blue background, motion simply stopped, creating a blissful, erotic trance. Unfortunately, yet understandably, her final note in the Liebestod, a make-or-break moment in the opera for some listeners, fell a bit short of the mark. But it didn't even remotely ditract from a tremendous vocal achievement.

Without exception, the rest of the cast, including Michelle DeYoung as Brangäne and Eike Wilm Schulte as Kurwenal, was fabulous, particularly bass Matti Salminen, in what is rumored to be his final Met appearance. His King Marke was heartbreaking, filled with solemn, noble dignity.

James Levine drew another exceptional performance from the Met Orchestra. Some of his tempos were a bit slow for my taste–I wanted a little more visceral energy in moments–but he reveled in the score's tender, psychological pages. Of course, when strength and drama were called, Levine delivered effortlessly.

I've now heard the orchestra under five different batons: Levine (on three occasions) and four guest conductors. With the exception Semyon Bychkov's flat, lifeless Otello, the orchestra has always played very well. But when Levine is in the pit, there's really no comparison. He unquestionably changes the sound of the orchestra--it's richer, heavier, darker. Without fail, the loudest and most affectionate ovations in a Levine-led performance are for the beloved conductor. And he deserves every second of it.

Unbelievably, before Friday, Heppner and Voigt had never sung Tristan together, and the sense of occasion was undeniable. In a review of the performance, Anthony Tommasini, chief critic at The New York Times and someone with plenty of authority when it comes to opera, evoked the memory of another pair of doomed lovers: Birgit Nilsson and Jon Vickers. That's a bold comparison–Nilsson and Vickers are among history's greatest Wagnerians–but it's not completely unreasonable.

After the first act, I unexpectedly bumped into David Rubin, outgoing dean of the Newhouse School at Syracuse University and a lifelong opera buff. He has heard all the best singers from the past half century, and I trust his musical judgment without reservation. At one point, he said to me that 50 years from now, people will remember this night as one of the finest collections of singers ever assembled. And after hearing this remarkable performance, how could I disagree?

(Photo by Frank Franklin II/Associated Press)

Anthony Dean Griffey Sings Peter Grimes at the Met

For many people, operas can be an intimidating experience–they can be quite long and are almost always sung in an unfamiliar language. Yet I think the stories themselves are often the biggest obstacles. They all project fundamental human emotions, but through characters and events with whom the average person cannot easily identify. Mozart's lothario Don Giovanni is dragged off to Hell by a vengeful statue that comes to life; Verdi's forbidden lovers Aida and Radames live against the backdrop of pyramids and Egyptian pharaohs; Wagner's monumental Ring cycle is set in a mythical land of gods and mortals. No matter how powerful the emotions of the voices and the orchestra, it can be hard to sympathize with a one-eyed god who carries a spear.

Peter Grimes, however, is no such experience. It's story is startlingly real: Peter Grimes is a lonely fisherman who is the target of his community's deep mistrust. He is prone to extreme mood swings–at one moment pining for his beloved Ellen Alford; at another violently throwing a child about the stage. After two of his apprentices die under suspicious circumstances, the townspeople turn completely against him, banishing him from the Borough, sending him on a final voyage out to sea.

The Metropolitan Opera unveiled its new production of Britten's harrowing masterpiece on Thursday night staring tenor Anthony Dean Griffey. Since the opera's premiere, two radically differing approaches of the title role have emerged: Peter Pears, the role's originator, viewed Grimes as a man driven to terrible acts by an unforgiving, oppressive community; Jon Vickers, on the other hand, saw Grimes as a brute, bringing out the character's anger and resentment.

Performances of Grimes are measured against these two legendary interpretations, and Griffey adopted elements of both. His beautiful lyric voice was sympathetic and, at times, even appealing. But he dashed any goodwill with shocking violent outbursts. The emotional instability Griffey set up made his Grimes compelling and powerful.

I've always been able to tell how engaging a concert is by listening to the crowd; the less noise, the better the performance. During Act III, one of the darkest in all of opera, held the audience transfixed. Silences usually filled with coughs and sneezes were completely motionless; people
were seemingly too afraid, or too shocked, to move. The enraged townspeople resolving to march on Grimes's hut–culminating in the shattering cries of "Peter Grimes!"–was chilling. Colder still was the following scene, an emotionally-raw monologue in which Grimes is cast adrift within his own delusions, haunted by his inner demons and the voices of the distant, faceless mob, now hidden behind the claustrophobic walls of his hut.

The story of his downfall strikes at the core of many human fears–someone who's different, misunderstood, an outsider. It's no challenge to place yourself in the shoes of either the townspeople or Grimes; we see this scenario unfold in countless ways all the time, and many of us have probably experienced it from both perspectives. In the end, Grimes is led out to sea, and the people of the Borough resume their normal lives. Yet the desolation and despair of Grimes's final moments will be hard to forget.

(Photo by Nick Heavican)

Gergiev, Vienna Philharmonic Heat Up Carnegie Hall

Outside the entrances to Carnegie Hall's main auditorium, there are bins filled with Ricola cough drops. The next time the Vienna Philharmonic comes to town, however, cold towels would be more appropriate.

The orchestra and Russian dynamo Valery Gergiev were at Carnegie Hall for three sold-out concerts, beginning Friday night with performances of excerpts from Berlioz's Romeo et Juliette, the yearning Prelude and Liebestod from Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, and Debussy's shimmering La Mer.

As I see it, a music critic's primary job is reporting: What did the performance sound like? Look like? Feel like? In many cases, it would be pretty easy to write a cursory description, throw in some authoritative-sounding terms, and bask in one's own brilliance. After all, how smart does it sound to talk about sonic clarity and careful dynamic pacing? But such writing means little to the average reader; it merely sounds impressive and people get the general idea whether the orchestra played well or not.

After hearing the Vienna Philharmonic on Friday night, I'm not ashamed to say I don't have the words to do the concert justice. It's not enough to say the orchestra was outstanding–they were. Simply put, it was the greatest orchestral playing I've heard in my life. Gergiev and the orchestra were exemplary in every regard, but several moments struck me as near miraculous.

Close to the end of the Berlioz, there was an extended, passionate solo from Principal Clarinet Peter Schmidl that began as a halting whisper and grew to an emotional lament. In the opening phrases, Schmidl's tone–soft and beautifully mellow–seemed to have neither a beginning nor an end; it merely emerged and disappeared within a world all its own.

Gergiev built the Tristan Prelude to a single, heart-stopping climax. For much of the opening, he set an expansive tempo, but as the strings begin their sweeping upward scales (measure 63, for nerds like me who have the score!), Gergiev slowly gathered speed, reaching the summit 20 bars later in a crushing diminished seventh chord. The entire Prelude (the entire opera, for that matter) is constantly pulling you in different directions, withholding the resolution your ear craves, but I've found this passage especially restless and unstable. Gergiev's interpretation was how I'd always imagined it being done, and with such overwhelming effect.

Throughout the concert, the brass produced a sound that almost defied belief–perfectly balanced, perfectly in tune. No matter how loud they played (and Gergiev was not shy about letting them rip), their tone remained remarkably warm and mellow. The great brass chorale at the end of La Mer had the richness and purity of liquid gold.

For Carnegie Hall veterans, hearing the Vienna Philharmonic may have lost its special appeal. But for me, it was a revelation, a glimpse at what is possible from an orchestra. Even a simple pizzicato had the weight and unity to ring throughout the hall. It may be a long time before I hear the Vienna Philharmonic again, but they have set an imposing standard that will be difficult for any orchestra to exceed.

(Photo by Marco Borggreve)

New York Philharmonic's Musical Diplomacy

Here's the New York Philharmonic's final encore from its historic concert in Pyongyang. It's called "Arirang," a traditional folk song that is treasured by both North and South Koreans, and it's actually quite beautiful. The concert featured Wagner's Prelude to Act III of Lohengrin, Dvorak's Ninth Symphony (From the New World), and Gershwin's An American in Paris.

This orchestra's trip to North Korea has generated considerable debate among critics. Alex Ross has posted a handy collection of links to some of the major commentary.

Personally, I'm skeptical of the lasting impact this performance will have on American/North Korean relations. Unlike some, I do not object to the concert itself. The prospect of Kim Jong-il using the orchestra as an effective propaganda tool is ridiculous. As his people are dying of starvation, Kim and his regime can't even provide electricity for much of the county. Who cares if he tries to spin it as a victory for the government? No one listens to him anyway. I'd like to believe that music has the capacity to transcend the sizable gulf between our two cultures. That's a idealistic view within the harsh reality of international power politics, but what's the harm in trying?

The Dudamel Phenomenon

It may be an exaggeration to call Gustavo Dudamel the savior of classical music. He's only one man, but the excitement he has generated is unbelievable. Unfortunately, I've never seem him in person, but thankfully there's YouTube. This clip is the 2nd movement of Shostakovich's Symphony No. 10 from a BBC Proms concert with the Simon Bolivar Youth Orchestra of Venezuela. The size of the orchestra is obscene–huge strings, double winds and brass–but the performance is electrifying. Just make sure you're sitting down to watch it!

Dudamel was also recently interviewed for 60 Minutes on CBS. That profile can be seen here.

Rossini's "Barber" at the Met

I don't like Rossini, and I've known this for quite some time. The beauty of student ticket prices lured me to a performance of Il Barbiere di Siviglia on Thursday night at the Metropolitan Opera, and to my great surprise, I had a wonderful time.

Vocally, the cast was acceptable. The three principals–Franco Vassallo in the title role, Elina Garanca as Rosina, and Jose Manuel Zapata as Almaviva–dispatched their many coloratura lines with ease and agility, but in the rapid-fire dialogue passages were often muddled and unintelligible.

Musically, I can't get excited about any of Rossini's music. His melodies aren't that memorable; his orchestration is bland; and his structure is maddeningly predictable. First, the aria or ensemble will start off with a simple tune, which is then elaborated by some impressive vocal fireworks. Finally, it concludes with everyone singing faster and the orchestra playing faster–the famous "Rossini Crescendo." Is this supposed to be exciting? Maybe once or twice. But how many different pieces in one opera can follow this pattern? Pretty much all of them.

What took me by surprise was the production's endless humor. After seeing Macbeth, Die Walküre, and Otello in recent weeks, an emotionally light evening was much needed. The cast's charisma was sparkling, with a sharp sense of comedic timing that was most evident in the recitatives. Some of the laughs originate with Rossini's music, but much of them came from a staging that clearly placed humor as a top priority. After all, they brought a mule on stage for seemingly no reason other than the fact that mules can be funny without doing anything.

For people that are convinced opera is large women with breastplates and horns, the Met's hilarious production is welcomed and refreshing. But for people that go to the opera to be emotionally affected, they should probably look beyond the frustrating music of Rossini.

"Otello" at the Met

Otello is generally considered Verdi's dramatic masterpiece, and even though I am not the composer's biggest fan, the drama and power of his penultimate opera is undeniable. Gone are the clear recitatives, arias, and ensembles that marked his previous works; Verdi creates an environment in which the music and action evolve seamlessly. Many people can whistle Verdi's famous melodies, but leaving the theater after seeing Otello, you probably won't have any of its tunes stuck in your head. If you're anything like me, however, the tragedy will simply leave you stunned and emotionally exhausted.

The title role makes tremendous vocal demands on any singer, but the acting requirements are even greater. Otello's entrance as the victorious hero and loving husband quickly deteriorates into the suspicion of his wife's infidelity before culminating in a murderous rage, and the tenor must project this psychological spiral. It's no surprise that the Moor of Venice has been a signature role for singers like Placido Domingo and Jon Vickers, two men who brought both a strong voice and powerful emotions to the stage.

In the Metropolitan Opera's current production of Otello, South African tenor Johan Botha undertakes this challenge and succeeds only partially. His voice was beautiful, with power and pure, golden tone, yet I never felt Otello's paranoia or fury. The climatic scene in Desdemona's bedroom was a particular letdown. As Otello accuses his wife of betrayal and sentences her to death, Desdemona begs for her life, but to no avail. Otello's hysteria builds, and he murders her. At this most frenzied instant, Botha seemed cold and detached–a heartless executioner more than a betrayed husband. (By comparison, at this moment in a 1971 live performance with Herbert von Karajan at the Vienna State Opera, Vickers seems to literally go insane right on stage–one of the most truly horrifying moments I have ever heard.)

Much like Botha's Otello, the Iago of baritone Carlo Guelfi was technically well-sung but lacking in spirit. Iago is surely one of the most vile characters in the opera repertoire–he even refers to himself as "primordial slime"–but Guelfi never explored those emotions. It's not about singing the all right notes; he does that beautifully and resonantly. For me, it's about creating an entire personal. This can be done in any number of ways: the manner in which you carry yourself on stage, a specific inflection on a revealing word or phrase, a special quality to the voice, etc. I despised Iago for his jealous and destructive manipulations, yet Guelfi could have pushed his character much further, into even greater depths of evil.

Renée Fleming, on the other hand, excelled vocally and dramatically as Desdemona. For a singer of her stature, it almost goes without saying that her voice is gorgeous, but unlike Botha, she was willing to sacrifice sonic quality when appropriate, particularly as she prayed for forgiveness and compassion in her poignant "Willow Song" and "Ave Maria" at the beginning of Act IV. In fact, in her several duets with Botha, Fleming's charisma and magnetism overwhelmed her co-star.

The rest of the cast and chorus were all very good, if unspectacular. Conductor Semyon Bychkov kept the Met Orchestra on a short leash, never really allowing their full might to be released. After hearing James Levine and Lorin Maazel conduct the orchestra in January, I know it's capable of far greater levels of expression. His tempos were fairly brisk, and the orchestra did achieve a full-blooded climax as Otello smothers Desdemona. But there were many other significant moments leading up to that point that I felt were dramatically underplayed.

Despite my complains, I have to admit that the production had a great effect on me. Such is the visceral power of the music and the story. Some have suggested that Verdi's setting of Otello is an improvement on Shakespeare's original place, and, while that's a limb I'm not willing to venture out on, the opera is unlike anything I've ever experience. Its brutal portrayal of jealousy and shame will remain with me, a reminder of the darkness of the human soul.

(Photo of Placido Domingo as Otello at the Vienna State Opera)

Fleisher Op-Ed Reveals Moral (Political?) Dilemma

Pianist Leon Fleisher is back in the news, but not for his playing or his recent Kennedy Center Honor. In Saturday's Washington Post, Fleisher writes about the deep moral struggle he faced. On the one hand, he received a prestigious award that recognized his lifelong contributions to American arts and culture; on the other hand, he received that award from President Bush.

Seven years into the Bush's presidency, I think most Americans--even those of us who initially supported him--now disapprove of a majority of his administration's policies. Fleisher acknowledges that he deeply respects the Office of the President, but confesses that he is so "horrified" by the president's actions that he didn't even want to even step foot in the White House for a pre-gala reception. Eventually, he decided to attend.

I'm no longer a Bush supporter, and some of Fleisher's complaints--particularly concerning torture and the environment--are valid. Yet I have a significant problem with his fundamental dilemma. Attending a White House function does not imply complete agreement with the administration's politics. And using this stage as an opportunity for political protest, in my opinion, would have been disrespectful to both the award and the Kennedy Center itself; it's a fundamentally apolitical event.

Fleisher spoke out through his article and by wearing a peace symbol and purple ribbon--the First Amendment guarantees those rights. Would he have had the right to skip the reception in protest? Certainly. But I for one am happy that he chose not to. There are so many opportunities to debate what is right for our country, the Kennedy Center Awards should be nothing more than a celebration of our country's greatest artistic talent.

Slatkin, National Symphony at Carnegie Hall

Two years ago, I heard the National Symphony Orchestra give an overblown performance of Mahler's Eighth Symphony. Granted, the piece itself is a little (a lot!) bombastic, but that doesn't mean there's no room for subtle, detailed playing when Mahler calls for it. Instead, the orchestra had a dynamic range that never dipped below mezzo forte, and many of the winds and brass simply did not seem up to Mahler's demands. On Thursday night, the NSO and its outgoing Music Director Leonard Slatkin traveled to Carnegie Hall and sounded like a whole new orchestra.

The centerpiece of their program was a powerful, multifaceted reading of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition. Tempos were brisk, but almost universally well-judged; my only disagreement was with Slatkin's "Promenade"--a tune that I feel needs a little space to breathe. The performance actually got off to a rough start. Slatkin almost fell of the podium, and "Gnomus" suffered through some sloppy ensemble and an embarrassing early entrance by the ratchet. However, it was quickly evident that Carnegie Hall had brought out the NSO's best. Most impressive were the dark, rich strings and brass in "Samuel Goldenberg and Schmuyle" and "Catacombae." Lighter, more whimsical movements--"The Tuileries" and "Ballet of the Chicks," for example--were crisp and delicate. Even in "The Great Gate of Kiev," the work's unapologetically over-the-top finale, Slatkin maintained control. Unlike their Mahler performance, the loud moments had impact and weight, and never felt like glorified noise.

Noise, however, played a central role in Liquid Interface by Mason Bates. The work, which was given its New York State premiere at this concert, is scored for a large orchestra and electronics. While Slatkin conducted, Bates performed on his laptop, producing a number of artificial effects. According to the composer's program note, the music "examines the phenomenon of water in its variety of forms." Many of his computer-generated sounds were exactly what you would expect in a piece about water--splashing droplets, gurgles, etc. It felt like I was either inside a submarine or watching my bathtub drain. Despite the many interesting and beautiful tone colors Bates wrote for the orchestra, I was simply too distracted by the comical sound effects to pay attention. For me, they didn't create a sonic world for the piece; they were clichés.

It could be argued that a piece about water that uses electronic sounds should include actual sounds of water. After all, wouldn't it be irresponsible for a composer to ignore the technological possibilities available to him? Shouldn't a piece about water sound like water? I believe this was the easy solution, however. Thrown in sounds we all recognize as liquid-related and everyone will understand. There was certainly no confusion about Bates's subject; his sound effects ensured that. But water can be effectively depicted without such explicit detail--Debussy wrote La Mer without today's technology. I hardly believe a cracking glacier would improve that masterpiece.

The worst moment, however was in the third movement, "Crescent City," when a New Orleans jazz riff spontaneously broke out. The passage have no obvious connection to the rest of the music; the composer offers an unconvincing and possibly inappropriate explanation in the program notes: "In a nod to New Orleans, which knows the power of water all too well, . . ." The piece had the potential to be colorful and evocative, but it seemed to pander to the audience with easily-understood sounds, reducing the music to its lowest common denominator.

The concert also included Liszt's Piano Concerto No. 2 featuring pianist Jean-Yves Thibaudet. It's an unusual concerto--no defined movements, only contrasting sections that created a sense of rhapsody or fantasy. Liszt is considered one of history's greatest virtuoso pianists, so his music makes extraordinary demands on a soloist. Thibaudet breezed through the most volcanic passages, but he was hurt by a surprisingly poor piano. The lower register in particular was thin and metallic-sounding, and the orchestra, through no fault of its own, covered many of the piano's most dramatic sections.

While the loud, heroic moments were very powerful, Thibaudet and the orchestra excelled in the softer music. Expressive solos from the orchestra, particularly Principal Cello David Hardy, were matched by Thibaudet's subtle, yearning phrases. Hardy's sound seemed to float effortlessly, suspended above the surrounding drama and passion. Their duet was an otherworldly departure from Liszt's typical fireworks. And in a grandiose concert where the orchestra never shrank below enormous, this short, chamber-like interlude may have been the most impressive, memorable, and musical moment of all.

Syracuse Symphony's Beethoven Festival, Part Deux

With its recently concluded Beethoven Festival, the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra wanted to take listeners on a three-part journey into the music--and mind--of history's greatest composer. They presented several unique opportunities that aren't usually found in concert halls--a listening station that tracked Beethoven's progressing deafness and Beethoven trivia and fact sheet inserts to the program, among others. The most original and insightful was a demonstration by music director Daniel Hege prior to the performance of the Eroica Symphony; he took listeners on a brief guided tour through Beethoven's detailed sketch books, tacking the development of many of the Eroica's revolutionary passages. Very rarely do these pre-performance talks yield anything worthwhile, but Hege's presentation was fascinating, and I think we all learned something about Beethoven's compositional process.

The music itself, however remained the central focus. After the previous weekend's ragged performance, Hege and the SSO delivered an impassioned program on Friday, January 25. The opening piece, the Second Romance for Violin and Orchestra, was perhaps not the best choice; it's calm, subtle lyricism did little to grab the audience's immediate attention. Hege and soloist Andrew Zaplatynsky, the orchestra's concertmaster, combined for a restrained yet beautiful performance. I only wish they had gone further in their reading--more expressive phrasing, dynamics, and rubato. It seemed calculated rather than organic.

Restraint was nowhere to be found in the fiery, passionate performance of the Seventh Symphony. On occasion, particularly in classical and romantic works, Hege has chosen sluggish tempos, but he stormed through Beethoven's most energetic symphony, pushing the music and the orchestra relentlessly forward. In fact, Hege nearly took a tumble off the podium following an enthusiastic cue to the cellos and basses. Even the celebrated second movement, which some conductors seem convinced is a funeral march, maintained a moderate tempo--after all, it is an allegretto! The performance's overall impact was tremendous, as Hege grabbed his audience from the introduction's first notes and only released them after the blazing finale.

After intermission, the SSO was joined by an exceptional cast of soloists for a performance of excerpts from Fidelio, Beethoven's only opera. The biggest celebrity in the cast was Vinson Cole, an international superstar who has worked with many of the world's leading orchestra and conductors, including Herbert von Karajan, Sir Georg Solti, and others. He sang an expressive Florestan, yet at 57 years old, his voice has begun to show its age, losing some of its resonance. Soprano Aimee Willis, on the other hand, was at no loss for power; she soared effortlessly over the orchestra, particularly in a stunning series of high notes. I've only lived in Syracuse for seven months, but she may be the one of the best voices to appear in this area in recent memory. Two basses rounded out the main cast. Richard McKee, the recently retired artistic director of Syracuse Opera, sang Rocco with dignity and compassion. Jimi James, a popular local singer blessed with a dark, enormous tone, was a menacing Pizarro. Janet Brown, Eric Johnson, Robert Allen, and the Syracuse University Oratorio Society performed smaller roles well enough, but compared to the command and strength of the four principals, they were merely lost in the background.

For me, this was the most impressive concert the SSO has given all season. On more than a few occasions, I have accused them of mailing it in during a performance, merely sleepwalking on stage. Likewise, Hege's energy can also wane at times. But no one could question the commitment of the musicians on this night. It was refreshing and invigorating to hear--and see--them so passionately involved in the music. Of course, with their newfound fire and passion comes a loss of tonal beauty, particularly in the brass. Much like in last weekend's Eroica, chords often turned harsh and shrill as Hege exhorted them to play with ever increasing intensity. The strings, however, seemed to find another level in the Seventh Symphony, playing with more depth and resonance than I had yet heard from them.

I've enduring several uninspired concerts, but this performance demonstrated that the SSO can do much better. They may never play with the power, precision, and beauty of the New York Philharmonic, but they can bring energy, dedication, and emotion to a piece. And when they do, the results are evident. People go to concerts to be transported beyond the concerns of everyday life and to another world entirely. We go to concerts to be inspired, and if they so choose, the Syracuse Symphony surely has that ability.

(Photo by Christian Steiner)

Syracuse Symphony's Beethoven Festival, Part I

Throughout January, the Syracuse Symphony Orchestra has devoted three concerts to a celebration of Beethoven and his timeless music. Many classical music lovers likely grew up listening to Beethoven, developing an thorough knowledge of his music. In fact, the man sitting next to me conducted practically ever bar of the concert with his hand in his lap; he barely missed an entrance all night. And I'm sure he wasn't alone.

It begs the question, what purpose does a mini-festival of solely Beethoven's music--with the exception of a Mozart horn concerto--serve? Personally, I can't get enough. Beethoven was history's greatest composer, and I deeply love his music. Much like the New York Philharmonic, which has presented "Brahms the Romantic" (duh, could Brahms be anything but a romantic?) and "The Tchaikovsky Experience" in recent years, the SSO now celebrates a composer we all know intimately.

For me, the series is a marketing strategy, which is perfectly reasonable. To remain viable, orchestras need to make money, and Beethoven is big business. His masterpieces put bodies in seats--a major issue for the Syracuse Symphony, which has struggled with meager attendance all year. The orchestra included several attractions not typically found at a classical music concert--a clever listening station where people could hear music "through Beethoven's ears," taking his deafness into account; a pianoforte, the type of keyboard on which Beethoven performed and composed; and a wide variety of recordings of Beethoven recordings. Ideally, orchestras should present festivals spotlighting the composers we should know more intimately--Mendelssohn, Schumann, Schubert, or one of many important 20th century masters. Bard College has done this at its summer concerts, focusing on Shostakovich, Copland, and Janacek in past season. But they are well financed; orchestras like the Syracuse Symphony will continue to program based on both artistic and monetary considerations.

The performance itself was uneven. After a plodding, sluggish reading of the Coriolan Overture, pianist William Wolfram joined the orchestra for the Second Piano Concerto, a work in Beethoven's classical style. Wolfram and conductor Daniel Hege seemed in disagreement throughout the performance, struggling to establish a consistent tempo and expressive approach. I felt that Wolfram wanted a more fluid, flexible beat and phrasing; Hege and the orchestra responded with bland, shapeless accompaniment. If the first half of the concert was a painting, the artist would have needed only one color.

After intermission, however, Hege and the musicians perked up, delivering a brisk account of the revolutionary Third Symphony, Eroica . Hege brought out many details in the score, particularly in dynamics and articulation. I disagreed with many of his choices, but it was refreshing to hear Hege more invested in the music, with something specific to convey. His gestures were intense, often punching and throwing his hands toward sections, like he wanted to start a fight with them. Unfortunately, the orchestra responded with a comparable sound--piercing, ugly, and harsh. In fact, the orchestra, especially the winds and brass, played quite poorly throughout Eroica; they suffered from sour tuning, poor tone quality, and stiff phrasing. Even when Hege tried to shape their passages, they failed to react. The strings were more in sync with Hege, but their thin sound kept them projecting any dynamic range.

The Beethoven Festival concludes on January 25 & 26 with the Second Romance for violin, Seventh Symphony, and a concert performance of Act II from Fidelio.

Maazel at the Met

Forty-five years since his last appearance, Lorin Maazel finally returned to the pit at the Metropolitan Opera. And after such a long absence, he seemed intent on elongating the experience as much as possible.

Maazel, the New York Philharmonic’s music director, opened his run at the Met on Monday, January 7 with a performance of Die Walküre, the second opera in Richard Wagner's Ring cycle, in which tempos fluctuated between sluggish and glacial. Wagner’s orchestra serves an important role, commenting on the story and heightening its drama, yet interludes consistently slowed to a crawl and when combined with the director Otto Schenk’s static action on stage, they sapped all momentum. Even the wild, windswept preludes to Act II and Act III (“Ride of the Valkyries”) sounded measured and tame.

Mezzo-soprano Stephanie Blythe, in a venomous performance as the manipulative Fricka, was superb. She cut through the orchestra, revealing Fricka’s disdain for her unfaithful husband, Wotan. Overall, however, the cast was a disappointment, and Maazel’s pacing did them no favors. James Morris brought compassion to Wotan, but over time his bass voice has lost power. As Siegmund, tenor Clifton Forbis seemed over matched by his demanding role; as Sieglinde, Siegmund’s twin sister and lover, soprano Adrianne Pieczonka proved more effective, conveying youthful passion and vulnerability. Soprano Lisa Gasteen struggled as Brünnhilde, Wotan’s powerful daughter: high notes, particularly in her famous Valkyrie Battle Cry, were inconsistent, and she strained to project and sustain long phrases. As a bland Hunding, bass Mikhail Petrenko lacked any terror or darkness.

Even the Met orchestra suffered in Maazel’s hands. Following such an inconsistent tempo can be a challenge, and after a tight opening act, its performance became littered with poor tone quality and fuzzy ensemble. The brass section in particular was pushed to the limit; fatigue was likely to blame for its increasingly abrasive, ugly sound.

Maazel is one of his generation’s greatest conductors, but he seemed to be in his own world. With singers and musicians gasping for breath, he stubbornly maintained his deliberate pace. This performance should have been Maazel’s triumphant return to the Met, but his idiosyncratic conducting made it little more than protracted self-indulgence.

(Photo by Chris Lee)