Lahav Shani, Conductor

On Saturday evening, conductor Lahav Shani conducted the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra in, for me, one of the most satisfying concerts to come from this ensemble this season. 

The concert opened with Johannes Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 1 in D minor, Op. 15 with pianist Kirill Gerstein. Right from the outset, Shani weaved an incredibly rich as well as beautiful orchestral tapestry in this highly symphonic work. Throughout this complex concerto, collaboration between soloist and conductor was impeccable. I especially appreciated how Shani handled the many tricky tempo transitions, most notably the one leading to the F major second theme (“Poco piu moderato”). Under the very expressive hands of this hugely talented conductor, the strings exuded a palpable warmth as well as richness in their sound. Throughout the performance of this large work, there was a sense of totality, an organic wholeness, especially remarkable in such a young conductor.

I had a little bit of trouble with the sound of the piano under Gerstein’s hands. In the opening chords, there was a lack of a sense of weight – it is not a matter of loudness, but the sense of richness - so evident in the orchestra - was found wanting in the piano part. In the famous octave trills, there was a lack of a sense of desperation. One remembers the words of Arthur Rubinstein: that these are not just trills, but a cry for help. Even in the tranquil F major second theme, Gerstein’s sound did not match the warmth of the sound of the orchestra.

Things improved markedly in subsequent movements. In the opening of the second movement, Shani evoked an incredible sense of repose, of tranquility, from the orchestra. Throughout the movement, Gerstein played with all the gravity as well as sensitivity that the music calls for. The pianist also played with a kind of chamber music like integration with the sound of the orchestra. At the end of the final extended solo for the piano, there was a beautifully seamless dovetailing with the entrance of the orchestra (m. 96). In the more unbuttoned third movement, the artists once again matched each other in sound as well as affect. The overall performance of this movement was as exciting as it could be, as well as highly satisfying.

Before the intermission, the two musicians presented the audience with a surprising encore. In preparation for the second half of the concert, the two artists collaborated in a performance, on the piano, of Rossini’s famous overture to The Barber of Seville, a work that Arnold Schoenberg arranged at the time that he was composing Pelléas und Melisande, Op. 5. Shani showed himself to be an absolutely natural pianist, matching Gerstein in sound as well as virtuosity in this delightful surprise – a perfect sorbet between two musical courses.

It takes a brave conductor, especially a guest conductor, to present Arnold Schoenberg’s Pelléas und Melisande. It it a complex work for conductor, orchestra as well as audience – hardly a crowd-pleaser on first hearing. Shani’s conducting of this 40-plus minute work was mesmerizing, inspiring every member of the orchestra to rise to the technical as well as musical demands of the score.

The beginning of this tone poem is one of great harmonic uncertainty, extreme chromaticism, and one where the composer exploits the middle to lower registers of the orchestra. The English horn is figured prominently here, as it is throughout the score – bravo to Beth Orson for beautifully sensitive, assured playing throughout. It is almost as if the music is rising from the depths until the appearance of the oboe solo at m.8. Shani skillfully handled the tricky transition (“Heftig”) to the F major theme at rehearsal number 5, played by the English horn, the first violins and part of the cello section.

At rehearsal number 16 (“Sehr rasch”), the orchestra played this brief but incredibly difficult section with a virtuosity and assurance that is astounding. I thought that Shani achieved a truly magical pianissimo at rehearsal number 25 (“Sehr langsam”), and evoked beautiful playing by the flutes, oboes and clarinets. As well, the difficult trombone glissandi – heard for the first time in musical literature – were extremely well played.

Those were only some of the highlights I remember from last evening’s performance. Throughout the performance this neglected early Schoenberg masterpiece, the young conductor was in complete control of every element of this dense, complex work, and served as a guide to lead us through the orchestral maze. As in the Brahms, there was an absolute sense of totality, of wholeness, in Shani’s reading. During the performance, it was as if the conductor was lost in the music, but yet clearly seeing the way before him. As well, he conducted with an interpretative maturity that belied his young age.

I can recall that the last time I was so bowed over by a young conductor was when a very young Yannick Nézet-Séguin conducted Gounod’s Faust for Vancouver Opera. And so, remember the name Lahav Shani, because we would be hearing much more of him in the future.

This was a performance I would remember for a long time to come.

Bach: The Cello Suites

I know of no music that is more musically and spiritually rewarding than the cello suites of J. S. Bach. Ever since the Vancouver Recital Society announced a performance of all six suites by the young cellist Jean-Guihen Queyras, this had been the concert I had most anticipated all year long. I certainly did not come away disappointed.

Queyras announced at the beginning of the concert that, contrary to what was said on the programme, he was going to play the suites sequentially, so that we could hear the progression, or evolution, of Bach’s compositional thoughts. Other than the Préludes to each suite (which has no repeats), Queyras played the repeat of the A sections of each of the dances, presumably to balance the length of the (usually) longer B sections.

In the Prélude of the Suite No. 1 in G major, BWV 1007, Queyras established a, for lack of a better word, natural tempo that allows for the ebb and flow of the music. The bass notes that begin many of the phrases serve as sort of an anchor for that particular phrase.

For the Prélude to the Suite No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1008, the artist created a sense of the space, or spaciousness, of the music. His performance of the energetic Courante was exhilarating. In the Sarabande, he conveyed the sense of emptiness, of bleakness, so inherent in the music.

Queyras conjured up a veritable storm in the series of broken chords beginning at m. 40 of the Prélude of the Suite No. 3 in C major, BWV 1009. I also appreciated his light-footed playing of the Bourrée I.

The violinist Nathan Milstein was once asked to name the most modern composer he had ever played, and he responded, “Bach.” Indeed in the Prélude to the Suite No. 4 in E-flat major, BWV 1010, the composer, with the help of the artist, led us into some very strange territories harmonically. Queyras successfully highlighted the “weirdness” of this incredible music. As in the Suite No. 3, the cellist played the Bourrée I of this suite with a beguiling lightness, especially in the many 16^th-note runs throughout the music.

With the last two suites, the music becomes distinctly denser, and I really sense that Bach was painted on a much larger canvas. The young artist conveyed the gravity and somber mood of the Suite No. 5 in C minor, BWV 1011, with the first notes of the Prélude. This was especially apparent in the many dotted note figures in the opening section. I thought his transition from 4/4 to 3/8 time was very logically and naturally done. Queyras conveyed the massiveness of this Prélude, probably the longest piece in the set of six.

For me, Queyras’ performance of this fifth suite was the emotional high point of the entire performance, which is saying a great deal. His performance of the Sarabande was truly stunning, and time stood still in that duration. The opening falling figures were so beautifully played that the audience, I sense, scarcely breathed.

I really appreciated the energy Queyras conveyed with the first repeated D’s of the Prélude to the Suite No. 6 in D major, BWV 1012, an energy that he sustained throughout the entire suite. The Courante was played with a breathtaking lightness. Glenn Gould was once asked what it was that attracted him to the music of Bach, and he answered with one word, “Compassion.” Hearing his performance of the cello suites, we certainly sense this quality in Bach’s music that Gould alluded to.

Before the afternoon, I had been a little concerned about the acoustics of the Orpheum Annex but, as it turned out, the intimate space suited the sound of a single cello just perfectly. It was neither too resonant, nor too dry, and allowed the intimate sounds of Bach to drift through the space.

The foregoing were just some thoughts that came to me during the concert. It takes courage for any artist to play all six of cello suites in a single afternoon, and Queyras’ performance yesterday afternoon was an astonishing display of musicianship. Let’s hope that the VRS would have him back in the nearest possible future.

I am grateful to the VRS for giving us this incredible musical experience; grateful to Queyras for his astounding performance, and grateful most of all for the creative genius of Johann Sebastian Bach.

Patrick May

January 22, 2017

Macbeth from Congo

The late great Austrian conductor Herbert von Karajan once said that even in a small theatre with a small orchestra, Verdi’s music “works”, which presumably means that the power of the music comes across.

I attended last night’s Vancouver Opera presentation of Macbeth with a great deal of trepidation, mainly because I had read that the score had been “reworked” for a mere 12 musicians by Fabrizio Cassol. I came away from the performance convinced that this production of Macbeth absolutely “works” as a theatre piece, if not exactly as “grand” opera.

I was thankful that the performance was held at the acoustically acceptable Vancouver Playhouse, and not in that travesty of a hall called the Queen Elizabeth Theatre. All of the voices were clearly heard, and the power of the music came through much more effectively in the smaller venue.

The set was incredibly simple. The chorus was seated (mostly) on stage left, and acts as a sort of Greek chorus commenting on the unfolding drama. The instrumentalists and the conductor were seated on stage right, and not in an orchestra pit, which also contributed to the immediacy of the sound. All of the action took place in an elevated area center stage, the size of a boxing ring, with black and white painted squares on the floor like a chessboard. Changing scenery was very effectively and evocatively achieved by back projections.

Rather than Scotland, the opera had been relocated to the Great Lakes region of Central Africa, with Macbeth being an ambitious Congolese warlord. Against this backdrop the director was able to address the many atrocities committed today on the African continent, exploitation of the land as well as the people, intimidation and raping of women, ethnic conflicts, and child soldiers. The performance, which lasted only one hour and forty minutes, necessitated streamlining of the story, which made the dramatic impact of the story much more powerful.

None of these things would matter if the music making were not up to standards, which it was. This reworking of Verdi’s score did not destroy the music, and the singing of the chorus as well as all the principals were Italianate, strong and beautiful. Nobulumko Mngxekeza, as Lady Macbeth, possesses a voice that soars over the most dramatic musical outbursts. And Owen Metsileng strikes a perfect balance between Macbeth's cowardice and ambition. Performing this work with such minimal forces did not diminish the power of the music or the message of the drama.

At a time when so many iconoclasts seek to, in their works, insert their dose of political correctness or political agenda, it is refreshing to see a production such as this, which gives us a new and different glimpse of this all too familiar tale, and yet retaining all the essence of Verdi’s masterpiece. In the end, it is not about whether the opera is set in Scotland or Africa, but how the artists were able to use this timeless tale to highlight Shakespeare’s insight into the human heart.

Patrick May

January 20, 2017

Conversations with Seiji Ozawa

Conductor Seiji Ozawa is far too modest a man to write an autobiography, or to have one written about him. During the early 2010’s, when Ozawa was recuperating from esophageal cancer and its many complications, the conductor sat down on many occasions with novelist Haruki Murakami to discuss his musical life, his views on music and on certain composers, as well as teaching. The result is this delightful and marvelous book of musical talk: Absolutely on Music – Conversations with Seiji Ozawa (Bond Street Books, 2016), a sort of Tuesdays with Morrie on music. This is probably as close as we will ever get to having a glimpse into the life of the great conductor.

The book is divided into six conversations/chapters, with shorter “interludes” in between. Ozawa and Murakami began their conversations with a discussion on Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3, which Ozawa was, at the time, preparing to conduct. As a tangent, Ozawa shared his experience of being in the audience when Glenn Gould and Leonard Bernstein gave that infamous performance of Brahms’ Piano Concerto No. 1 in D minor. Ozawa felt that Bernstein’s disclaimer before the performance was inappropriate. He and Murakami then discussed and compared Gould’s performance of Beethoven’s Third Piano Concerto with Herbert von Karajan (a live recording) as well as Leonard Bernstein (a studio recording), thereby highlighting the difference between the two master conductors, both of whom were mentors to Ozawa. They also compared recordings of pianist Rudolf Serkin’s two recordings of the same concerto, one with Bernstein, and the other one with Ozawa himself and the Boston Symphony Orchestra.

I find it interesting to contrast Murakami’s questions/comments about certain musical subjects, in the language of a knowledgeable music lover, and Ozawa’s answers/comments in much more the language of a musician. In Murakami’s own words, “(T)here is a fundamental difference that separates the way we understand music...it’s hardly for me to point out how very high the wall is that separates the pro from the amateur, the music maker and the listener.” That said, Ozawa never condescends, never gives pat answers, when answering Murakami’s questions, and his responses are always respectful to the writer as well as thoughtful.

In a subsequent chapter, Ozawa shared his memories of his experiences as assistant conductor to Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic, some of his early recordings and performances, and his appointment as music director of the Chicago Symphony’s Ravinia Festival, as well as his time as music director of the Toronto Symphony.

Fascinating also is an entire chapter on Ozawa’s views on the music of Gustav Mahler, whose nine symphonies Ozawa performed and recorded extensively. Again, Ozawa related his experiences with Bernstein when he was in the process of performing and recording the Mahler symphonies.

Ozawa also shared with Murakami his experiences as an opera conductor. Although he did not grow up, like many of the older conductors, in the tradition of an opera house, he certainly grew into opera with a steep learning curve, so much so that he was appointed music director of the Vienna State Opera. It is therefore not surprising that one chapter is devoted to Ozawa’s activities as in opera.

In spite of the fact that Ozawa is one of the most famous names in the music world, this very private man has never revealed very much about his life or about his past musical experiences. These different chapters give us a tiny glimpse into the great conductor’s musical life, his many accomplishments, and his thoughts on various aspects of music.

It is fascinating to read Ozawa’s recollections of the many great musicians whose path he crossed. He was forever lamenting - and I’m sure he meant it - about all the missed opportunities he might have had in learning from and talking to older musicians – Glenn Gould and Bruno Walter were the two figures he specifically named - because of his poor English. Unlike many musical memoirs, this book does not degenerate into becoming a series of self-aggrandizing anecdotes. The self-effacing Ozawa seemed to always divert the conversation towards other musicians, or about the composer and the works he conducted.

A friend who read this book in the original Japanese told me that it is impossible to capture the tone and the flavour of the conversation with any translation. Even so, Ozawa is one of my musical heroes, and reading this book has been the highlight of the Christmas season.

Since falling ill in 2009, Seiji Ozawa’s convalescence has been a long and difficult process. Even today, the conductor only makes two or three appearances a year, and often share a concert with another conductor because of his limited strength. Which is all the more reason we should be thankful for this inspiring book. Music lovers, students of music, as well as musicians would all enjoy and learn from the many reflections and insights by this master musician, and one of the 20^th century’s great conductors, now in the twilight of his life.

Patrick May

Christmas Eve, 2016