Mahler's Symphony of a Thousand

You have never experienced music like this! Yannick Nezet-Seguin and more than 400 singers and musicians at the top of their game ripped the ceiling off the Kimmel Center and probably damaged a few eardrums this weekend with Mahler’s monumental 8^th Symphony in E flat, the “Symphony of a Thousand.” This Philadelphia Orchestra performance needs to be measured in G-force, an emotional and intellectual roller coaster that teeters on a tightrope between ecstasy and hysteria, but always contained just enough by Mahler’s commanding intelligence to keep from slipping into madness.
 
There is no describing the power, sensitivity, range, and spiritual oomph of this soaring, staggering, whispering, cajoling, and ultimately triumphant symphony. Yannick opted for an intermission between the work’s two very different movements, the first a “Veni creator spiritus,” in Latin, a hymn to the creative spirit of the universe, followed by the closing scene from Goethe’s Faust in which corrupt man is redeemed through the love of woman. One of my religion professors at Drew University once said that there is no force to equal religion mixed with sex. He could have added music to the mix.

The Kimmel Center, that beautiful, magnificent venue, showcasing performers on the stage as the precious jewels they are, was the perfect venue for this massive experience. Against the soaring organ pipes, the text of each movement appeared in translation, offering insight and a tie to safety, like that steel tether that keeps Matt Damon from flying out into space in The Martian.

Because of my last-minute decision to attend, I had the choice of three tickets, and chose one in the middle of Row D. It turned out that Row D for this performance was the first row because the orchestra appropriated Rows A through C plus half the balconies behind the stage for its expanded forces. As a result, I nestled under Yannick’s left elbow, a few feet from the man himself, throughout the 90-minute performance, and had an up-close-and-personal view of Concertmaster David Kim’s impeccable violin technique in several ethereal solos. Sitting virtually in the orchestra has its advantages, though I felt I missed a good visual grasp of the massive forces beyond the conductor, invisible to those of us in “the pit.”  

I have to say, though, that the sheer volume of sound was something I have not experienced since hearing Jon Leifs’ Hekla with the Bose turned way up, some I do not recommend for the faint of hearing. Knowing what to expect, having once sat briefly beside a Kimmel organ pipe, I stopped at the CVS behind the Kimmel Center and bought a pair of Earplanes (plugs) which helped avert an otherwise unavoidable case of tinnitus. 

How can such beauty exist? In between gasps of delight by myself and, yes, others in proximity, I was able to scrawl a few notes for this blog. Mahler’s masterful skill as a composer is evident in tremendous vocal and instrumental writing in this work. For just one example, after the almost painfully loud “Drive the enemy far from us” section, there is a complex instrumental fugue about 25 minutes into the first movement, short but intense. Another note: the slow opening of the second movement, which suggests a mysterious garden, plays pizzicato celli against shimmering violins, soon crowned by a halo of woodwinds, a subtle and beguiling effect much needed given the fireworks to come. 

The text from Goethe is a bit archaic, I’m sorry to say, not only for modern audiences but even for a 20^th century man like Mahler, but anyone used to Goethe-speak and the archetypal language of classic Catholic theology shouldn’t be put off by it.  There’s a great German-English PDF of the second movement text at www.naxos.com which is worth reading through.  But let’s not get bogged down in textual analysis. This is music. It’s about redemption. It is redemption.

The Symphony of a Thousand swells to an inexorably ecstatic conclusion, making many listeners, I am sure, recall the great Resurrection Symphony, Mahler’s Second, an impressive redemption “two-fer” by one of Austria’s greatest Jewish composers. (Interesting letter to the editor on Mahler’s religion: http://tinyurl.com/jcabldn )

I was blown away by Nezet-Seguin’s interpretation and, let’s face it, sheer physical stamina, and the great work of the Westminster Symphonic Choir, Choral Arts Society of Washington, American Boychoir, and half dozen top-flight vocal soloists with unerring technique and passion..
 
To twist the words of Dylan Thomas, “Rave, rave, for the shining of the light,” the light of music illuminating the dark dusty corners of our hearts and releasing our souls. Great concert, Philadelphia Orchestra, March 13, 2016.

(Etching of Gustav Mahler by Emil Orlik)

Charismatic Brahms with Hélène Grimaud, Vernal Schumann with Nézet-Séguin

Hélène Grimaud, an artist who generates excitement wherever she goes, brought her unique talent and charisma to Philadelphia March 3 through 4, 2016, in a performance of the towering Brahms’ Second Piano Concerto in B flat with the Philadelphia Orchestra led by Yannick Nézet-Séguin.

There’s no doubt that the French pianist’s mastery is known and appreciated in the Philadelphia area. Every seat in Verizon Hall was taken, and listeners edged forward in their seats as the minutes ticked past the 2 p.m. matinee start time on March 4. Clad in a shiny grey shirt and black pants, shoulder-length brown hair tousled and free, Grimaud strode briskly onto the stage before the conductor, and accepted applause reaching the ovation level before she played a note. Grimaud is also renowned as an environmental and human rights activist and author.

But once seated and eased into the Brahms by some of the best-known horn phrases in classical literature, Grimaud's playing merged with Neget-Seguin’s lively direction. Grimaud has an unusual ability to walk a tightrope between classical purity and romantic emotionalism. It’s as though there’s this tiny pathway between the two that she unerringly navigates. As a result, the Brahms’ Second emerges in a more passionate voice that we may be accustomed to, but always reverent to the majestic architecture of this complex and inexhaustible work.

I say “complex” as we would refer to a gourmet dish that balances subtle, often contrasting flavors and textures in new and refreshing ways. This is opposed to “complicated,” an approach in which the player becomes bogged down in the sheer weight of notes, introduction of new phrases that would shout out, “I’m here now, pay attention to me!” and massive chordal progressions. 

There was no feeling of being trapped in a dense fishnet of musical ideas here, rather it seemed as though Grimaud had liberated the music from its form, allowing it to escape from the artists to the audience. And a gleeful escape it was.

Grimaud’s technique and expressive genius drove this lengthy work in four movements (classical concertos typically have three) without faltering during the work’s 50 minutes. Brahms is one of the pillars of Grimaud’s repertoire, and one can hear the difference it makes when a pianist truly loves the work that he or she is playing. Noteworthy to me was the thoughtfully constricted dynamic range, no extreme softness, no sudden burst of fortissimo as we would expect in Beethoven, but rather a consistent balance between piano and forte in which her sensitive, insightful, and expressive interpretation could unfold. 

Nézet-Séguin and the orchestra kept their part of the musical bargain, supporting, parrying, lobbing phrases back and forth, even erupting in a bit of musical frenzy worthy of Tchaikovsky about halfway through the first movement. Noteworthy moments included some beautiful horn passages throughout and a haunting cello solo in the third movement.

During one of several enthusiastic curtain calls, Yannick cupped his hands around Grimaud’s and lifted them like a chalice or a precious treasure, which they are. 

After intermission, the orchestra performed Schumann’s Symphony No. 1, also in B-flat major, Op. 38, the “Spring.” This was the first major symphonic work by the German master, composed shortly after his marriage to the pianist and composer, Clara Wieck, and was debuted under the baton of Felix Mendelssohn in 1841.

Composed between the great symphonies of Beethoven and Brahms, the four Schumann works may seem like foothills below the Matterhorn, but they have their own charm and inventiveness. The First is noteworthy for its energy, lightness, harmonic originality, and memorable melodies, a work Schumann outlined in a burst of activity over a four-day period in the winter of 1841, perhaps one of the happiest times of his life (Schumann succumbed to mental illness and died at the age of 46).

Nézet-Séguin emphasized the musical variety in this symphony, the effective use of orchestral colors, highlighting its lively themes and drive from the first to final allegros.  Every time I hear the final movement, though, I am transported back to my early teens when I sawed that tune on a cheap fiddle, adding the words, “I hate playing/the vi-o-lin!” Schumann clearly has a message for everyone.

(photo of Grimaud by Carolyn Cole, Los Angeles Times, below)

Igor Levit in Princeton: A brilliant pianist opens pathways to musical understanding

I was expecting great things from Igor Levit’s recital in Princeton on Feb. 4, 2016, but my expectations were not nearly high enough.

The young German pianist stepped far beyond technical virtuosity and intelligent interpretation, though he certainly possessed both. To this listener, in a program whose works spanned three centuries, Levit expanded the musical horizons of his listeners and took us on a pathway to understanding that is uniquely his own. 

The pianist brought with him to a remarkable, perhaps unprecedented reputation. While still in his twenties, Levit has recorded the last five Beethoven piano sonatas and received rave reviews from critics around the world for the maturity and originality of his conceptions.  

To a full house in Richardson Auditorium, Levit performed these four works: Bach’s Partita No 4 BWV 828, Schubert’s Moments Musicaux D780, Beethoven’s Sonata #17 Op. 31 No. 2, “Tempest,” and Prokofiev’s Sonata No 7 Op. 83. He played a Shostakovich waltz as an encore.

A tall, thin young man of 28, Levit walked briskly onto the stage, wearing a black suit but no tie. Tellingly, his demeanor was confident and relaxed, but with no discernable touch of arrogance.

The Bach was a revelation. This was big Bach, obviously not Bach for original instruments, yet it was entirely without hype, not romanticized or inflated, but clear, steady, and above all, flowing and well paced. There is a tendency for Bach to sound clunky in the piano, but this was never the case with Levit’s playing. 

One thing that leapt out at me immediately was the respect he showed to the Baroque ornamentations. These devices—grace notes, trills, and so forth—were in part introduced in the Baroque era because harpsichords and other keyboards then in use could not sustain notes for any significant length of time. Obviously, this isn’t a concern with a modern piano. 

To Levit, though, ornaments are not frills to be slighted, but actual notes to be treated as part of the musical conception. A trill became a series of notes in a musical thought, forcing us to listen to the work perhaps as we never had before. The vivid impressions left with me were Levit’s sustained energy, his focus on the unique character of each of the seven movements, and his unerring ear for consolidating the separate sections into one seamless whole. The final Gigue was breathtaking in drive and feeling, drawing shouts of approval from the rapt audience.

As the Bach taught us a few lessons about trills, the six Schubert miniatures known as the Moments Musicaux (musical moments) brought out the notion of conversation in music. These brief Moments have a haunting tenderness, a veiled yearning about them. I’ve heard performances in which the bass and treble were fully integrated, and it seemed satisfying at the time. But no more. Levit’s treatment involved the bass and treble lines sometimes dividing into different personalities, speaking with and commenting on each other. In one of the sections, the bass took on a very different tone and phrasing than the treble, as though the two lines were indeed the voices of two remarkable, if dissimilar, characters. These works flicker between sunshine and shadows, sometimes within the same musical phrase, and Levit’s performance caught their dappling flawlessly.

After intermission, Levit offered the Beethoven 17^th piano sonata. This is an astonishing work, whose effects accrue with careful study rather than casual listening. Right from the beginning, it is all Beethoven: five tempo changes in the opening eight measures! As Levit told me in an interview last month, the first movement is one long 8-1/2-minute improvisation. And there was never a greater improviser than Beethoven. 

What I remember most about Levit’s performance was the diaphanous halo of pedal overtones surrounding two unaccompanied treble passages in the first movement. In the midst of an agitated tempest, a vision of calm, but troubled calm, calm with consequences. This music is very disturbing, yet just about as beautiful as music can be, and never more effectively rendered (in my experience) than in this performance. 

The formal program ended with Prokofiev’s Sonata No. 7, a big, “let’s smash the keyboard” show-stopper that again came with a lesson. The lesson was: there is more to this sonata than a huge percussive sound, and it’s about a lyricism you may not have realized is there.

Levit can pounce on the keyboard with the best of them, but who can unleash the loveliness hidden in the second section and playing hide and seek with the relentlessly drumming chords in the first and third movements? 

And what a way to end a concert of tempests, Sturm und Drang than that thunderous last movement. I scribbled one positive word at the bottom of the printed program: “Insane!!!” I later scoured YouTube seeking to recapture some of that magic, but none of the well known pianists I encountered came close to this performance paradigm.

The Princeton visit was the first in an 18-day tour of the United States and Canada for the young artist. You may read more about him in my interview in the Princeton Packet which appears below. Please note that the final concert will not be in New York City but rather in Minneapolis. If you missed him in Princeton, you missed him on the East Coast, at least for this concert season. Igor Levit is someone to watch for, and not miss, in the future!                        --Linda Holt

http://tinyurl.com/gsubx6q