YouTube Symphony Winners Announced

The winning auditions videos for the YouTube Symphony have been posted on the orchestra's YouTube page. According to a BBC story, more than 3,000 entries from 200 countries were submitted, with 30 different nationalities represented in the ensemble. The orchestra performs on April 15 under the baton of Michael Tilson Thomas at Carnegie Hall.

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.

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)

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.