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.