Sir Andras Schiff and the Seattle Symphony

Sir Andras Schiff spent this last week in Seattle, conducting and playing with the Seattle Symphony Orchestra, as well as giving a solo recital. I missed Sir Andras’ solo recital, but I had the pleasure of attending his appearance with the orchestra. 

The concert opened with J. S. Bach’s Keyboard Concerto No. 3 in D major, BWV 1054, a reworking of the composer’s Violin Concerto in E major, BWV 1042. It is apparent in this concerto how much the period instrument practice has seeped into performances with modern instruments. The strings played with minimal vibrato, and there was a lightness in the string playing that kept the musical line taut and buoyant. Schiff’s playing was, not surprising, a marvel to behold. In the faster passages, every note is beautiful and expressive, like a precious pearl within a perfect string of pearl. The lightness of his playing matched that of his colleagues in the orchestra. In the slow movement (Adagio e sempre piano), I was amazed at the beautiful legato and the sound he was able to achieve without any use of pedal (I sat on Row 1). The third movement (Allegro) was filled with a joyful spirit that this music calls for. Throughout the performance (and even in the performance of the Beethoven concerto), Schiff almost subsumed the sound of the piano within the texture of the orchestra, making it almost like a piano obbligato. This, for me, is concerto playing at its finest, a sort of glorified chamber music.

Equally memorable was Schiff and the orchestra’s presentation of Beethoven’s miraculous Piano Concerto No. 4 in G major, Op. 58 – a Dionysian presentation of one of Beethoven’s most Dionysian works. The piano playing was expressive and expansive. It was not a Toscanini-like metronomic Steeplechase, but more of a Bruno Walter, stopping-along-the-way-to-smell-the-flowers approach to this great work. Schiff took time to let the music speak for itself. The opening phrase of the 1^stmovement had a recitative-like, confiding quality to it. Throughout the movement, I was reminded of the beauty of Beethoven’s writing for the winds, especially the bassoon. At six measures after letter H, the piano playing had an extra depth of feeling, almost an ecstatic quality to it. Schiff is a conductor who reminds us that conducting really involves the power of suggestion. He coaxes rather than demands in his approach to directing the orchestra. As in the performance of the Bach, Schiff did not come off as the “famous soloist” playing against the orchestra, but integrated his playing within the orchestral texture. It was only during the cadenza that he rid himself of the orchestral shackles and allowed his considerable virtuosity to shine through.

In the slow movement, Schiff set a tempo a little faster than most performers, with sharper articulation in the strings. This is actually in line with the composer’s Andante con motomarking, con motobeing the operative word here. That said, there was no lacking in tension or tautness in the music; there was, however, very much a sense of forward motion – it was a perfect balance between the horizontal and vertical aspects of this music. I appreciated the space Schiff allowed between each orchestral outburst and the piano entry. The long passage of trill at the end of the movement was filled with urgency and a pleading quality, an appropriate contrast with the silence that followed.

I had always thought that this particular Beethoven concerto could not do without a full-time conductor. Well, Schiff and the orchestra obviously rehearsed this work very well, because the ensemble between pianist and orchestra, as well as all those tricky entrances, was done to perfection. This was especially apparent in the 3^rdmovement. I liked the way Schiff played all the sforzandonotes in the right hand (the passage at Letter A, for instance), giving it a feeling of surprise, but never forced or hammered. 

At the end of the Beethoven, soloist and orchestra received a deservedly rousing ovation from the audience, whereupon he returned with Menuet I and IIas well as the Giguefrom Bach’s Partita No. 1 in B-flat major, BWV 825. Schiff’s brief performance was musical in every note, as light and breathtaking as one could hope for, and he really highlights the quirkiness of Bach’s melodic writing. 

Schiff returned as a full time conductor in the second half, and led the orchestra in a deeply felt reading of Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra, Sz. 116, BB 123, yet another miraculous masterpiece, this time from the 20^thcentury. It never fails to amaze me that this beautiful, optimistic and life-affirming work should come during such a dark time not just in human history, but in the composer’s life as well.

He beautifully shaped the melodic idea in the celli and basses at the outset of the work, and really allowed the music to build towards the Allegrovivace(rehearsal number 76) main section. I liked how he shaped the angular melody in the violins, really giving it a great deal of character. There was a real sense of grandeur and excitement in the canonic passage for brasses at rehearsal number 313. Throughout this long first movement, there was an organic unity that led to that final F for the entire orchestra.

In the Giuoco delle coppiemovement, Schiff infused the opening music with real humour, and inspired the bassoonists in some inspired playing. There was heroic and very beautiful trumpet playing in the extended passages for the instrument by the Seattle musicians. The conductor painted a real picture of varying shades of grey (certainly more than fifty) in the Elegia movement. The“outburst” by the strings at rehearsal 34 had a desperate quality to it, almost like a cry for help. Leonard Bernstein once said that a lot of Bartok’s melodic writing is related to the unique sounds of the Hungarian language. This passage, and the way the musicians played it, reminded me of Mr. Bernstein’s statement.

Schiff highlighted the almost Mahler-like sense of irony in some of the music in the Intermezzo interrotto movement. The violas played their beautiful theme at rehearsal 43 with great warmth as well as a depth of feeling. Conductor and orchestra pulled out all the stops in the very exciting final movement. The opening horn solo had a real sense of occasion to it, and conveyed the feeling of the beginning of something momentous. The rapid passage by the first and second violins had a real Hungarian, almost gypsy, flavour, to it. Yesterday afternoon, every musician in the orchestra rose to the occasion responded to Bartok’s technical and musical challenges with aplomb and absolute assurance.

From first note to last, yesterday’s performance by Schiff and the Seattle musicians made for a rich and rewarding musical experience. It was a performance of total commitment on the part of the musicians, as well as one where all the elements came together to make for a very memorable afternoon.

Patrick May

Remembering André Previn

In those pre-historic days of the late 1970’s, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and when serious music was very much part of television programming, I came upon this wonderful series of programmes called “Previn and the Pittsburgh”. I watched those shows and marveled not only at the beauty of the music being presented, but also at the incredible talents of André Previn.

When I learned of the death of Mr. Previn, I realized that even though I had never seen him perform in person, his music making loomed large over my formative years as a music lover and student of music.

Other than Leonard Bernstein, I cannot think of a musician who was so multi-talented, and whose career touched upon so many facets of music – composer, conductor, pianist (classical and jazz), educator, and presenter of music. 

Previn started in Hollywood as an arranger and composer when he was sixteen, out of economic necessity more than anything else, and ended up composing and arranging music for some fine (and some not so fine) films – Invitation to the Dance,Gigi, Porgy and Bess, Irma La Douce,My Fair Lady, and Thoroughly Modern Mille, to name just a few – winning four Oscars for his work. 

At the same time, he discovered jazz, and became a fine pianist in that genre. One of my favourite Previn albums includes the “My Fair Lady” record, made within a single evening, and became a very big seller (for a jazz record). He “jammed” with such luminaries as Ray Brown, Red Mitchell, Bill Perkins, Jerry Mulligan and Shelly Manne.

He played chamber music with musicians from the MGM studio orchestra, and studied conducting with Pierre Monteux. He conducted the studio orchestra in his own film compositions, but also had the occasional opportunity to conduct “serious” repertoire. In one of his first rehearsals with the studio orchestra, the musicians decided to test him by tuning a semitone lower. Previn heard it and said nothing. Right before he gave the downbeat, he said, “Everyone, transpose a semitone up.” The musicians were impressed.

When he tired of the lack of challenge in film work, and began to shift his focus to conducting full time, all the critics held his years in Hollywood against him. Previn said that all the reviews would begin with the words, “Last night, Hollywood’s André Previn conducted….” He often said that critics would have forgiven him if he had been a serial killer, but not for having been a “film composer”. 

Gradually, Previn won them over as he gained experience as a conductor. He took over the Houston Symphony Orchestra briefly, and then there were those honeymoon years as principal conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra, where he made some of his finest and most memorable recordings. Then there were tenures in Pittsburgh and Los Angeles, both of which ended unhappily. In his last years, he devoted his time mostly to the occasional guest conducting stints, and to composing. I was very much looking forward to his scheduled appearance with the Seattle Symphony, but he had to cancel that concert because of ill health. 

I believe his television programmes on music can be judged the same way as Bernstein’s work on television. He talked about music intelligently, without talking down to the audience. I am certain that many people owed their interest in music because of Previn’s programmes. His one appearance on the British television show of Morecambe and Wise (“Mr. Preview!”) is still remembered and talked about today.

Previn often talked about composing as something he could do easily, because of his training in Hollywood. He often said that he could compose “with the World Series on”, but that he didn't expect his music to last. I believe he underestimated his work as a composer. His film scores rank along those of Korngold, Rózsa, Walton, and Hermann. And I particularly love his guitar concerto, written for John Williams, and his piano concerto, written for Vladimir Ashkenazy. In his later years, his operatic adaptation of “A Streetcar Named Desire” contains some truly memorable music. 

I will always be grateful to Previn for his many wonderful recordings, introducing me to works that remain close to me today. I love Rachmaninoff’s second symphony because of his great recording with the London Symphony Orchestra, the first time the work was recorded uncut. His recording of Elgar’s Enigma Variationsis still one of the finest in the catalogue. I still adore his Vaughan Williams records, especially the one of the fifth symphony, where the feeling of “Englishness” overflows in the slow movement. His Mahler fourth introduced me to that charming work; I wore out the LP listening to his recording of the incidental music to Mendelssohn’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” There were also albums where Previn doubled as pianist and conductor – Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue and Concert in F, many Mozart concerti, and lots of chamber music. 

In his witty and clever memoirs, No Minor Chords – My Days in Hollywood, Previn said, “Since leaving Hollywood, I have had the healthy and sobering experience of constantly working with music that is invariably better than any performance of it can be.” Using that as a yardstick, I think Previn had had a pretty rewarding life.

So rest in peace, André Previn. Thank you for all you had done for music, and, as Bob Hope said, “Thanks for the memories.”

Patrick May

The Polish Romantics

Last evening, Tobias Koch played the second of his two recitals in Vancouver. While his first recital featured music extremely familiar to everyone, last night’s recital highlighted composers, I would venture to guess, few in the audience had heard about.

The title of the recital indeed describes it all – The Polish Romantics – a concert of 19^th century Romantic piano music from Poland. Rather, music from the Poland in people’s heart. As Professor John Glofcheskie writes in his excellent programme notes, “The programme of keyboard music by Polish Romantics might also be called Music of Stateless Poland.” Poland lost her independence in 1795, and the arts; music, in particular, became a point of refuge for stateless Poles, living in their own land perhaps, but under the subjugation of other empires. Composers, both professional and amateur, wrote mazurkas and polonaises, quintessentially Polish dance forms, as a sublimation of their patriotic feelings as well as a lament for Poland’s tragic history.

Michal Kleofas Oginski’s 1794 Polonaise in A minor, subtitled “Farewell to the Homeland,” was the first such piece performed last night. All the pieces Koch played last night were charming, sentimental, and melancholic, especially interesting was Jozef Elsner’s Rondo à la Mazurka in C major, an utterly simple and charming piece – the word “cute” almost comes to mind. Elsner was Chopin’s composition teacher, and hearing that piece by the older composer really highlighted the difference between mere talent and towering genius. In the first half, Koch also performed the earliest polonaise by Chopin, the Polonaise in B-flat major, KK IVa-1, written in 1817 when he was seven. Hearing that early work was almost like hearing the earliest symphonies and concerti by Mozart. The forms may be simple, and the scope may be small, but the seeds of genius were already present.

Edward Wolff’s Hommage à Chopin: Rêverie-Nocturne was beautiful, and came close to capturing the mood of Chopin’s own masterful Nocturnes. In Glofcheskie’s notes, he writes that Wolff was for a time Chopin’s copyist, but he would “pinch something and print it” as his own composition! Perhaps he did learn a thing or two from the master in all his “borrowings”.

The pianist-composer Maria Szymanowska, whose reputation extended beyond her native Poland, was represented by a Polonaise in F minor, written 1820. Chopin heard and apparently admired Szymanowska when he attended one of her Warsaw concerts.

In the second half of the concert, Koch played pieces by composers that came after Chopin, but had obviously been influenced by him. The two mazurkas, one by Karol Mikuli, Chopin’s own student, and another by Ignacy Friedman, were for me the largest in scope and inventive. The two pieces by Paderewski were charming examples of the famous pianist-composer’s many miniatures.

By way of contrast, Koch played a small sampling of works by Chopin; the first half ended with the Mazurka in C-sharp minor, Op. 50, No. 3, and the evening ended with the monumental canvas of the Polonaise in F-sharp minor, Op. 44.

Koch bid farewell to Vancouver with a generous four encores – a polonaise by J. S. Bach, from the Anna Magdalena Notebook, Egon Petri’s transcription of Bach’s Sheep May Safely Graze, and two more Chopin – the Waltzes in A minor and F minor {Op. Posth.)

In general, Koch seemed a little more restrained in his use of rubato last night. While I found his playing on Friday evening beautiful indeed, Koch’s playing of these morsels equally valid and justifiable. Throughout the evening, his playing of the mazurkas and polonaises was idiomatic and filled with genuine feeling for the music.

We must thank Tobias Koch for giving us this very interesting and important programme, and for introducing us to works that are new to us. This was not just a concert of charming salon music. Hearing music by precursors of Chopin, his contemporaries and near-contemporaries, as well as composers who were influenced by him, really highlights Chopin’s own unique and inimitable genius and places his compositions within historical perspective.

I certainly look forward to Mr. Koch’s next appearance in Vancouver.

Chopin's Last Concert

For the second year in a row, Early Music Vancouver and The Vancouver Chopin Society jointly host a period piano specialist in a Chopin recital. This year, pianist Tobias Koch graced the stage of Christ Church Cathedral with two programmes. Last night’s recital was a “reimagining”, or recreation of the last recital Chopin played on October 4, 1848 in Edinburgh. Appropriately, Koch played on a restored 1852 Broadwood Boudoir Grand piano, as did Chopin (not the same Broadwood obviously), the same programme that was on that last recital.

Even though there were no “big” works presented – no “Heroic” Polonaise, noSonatas, no Scherzi– the programme was a formidable one, especially considering Chopin’s extremely weakened state. The composer was apparently so weak at this point that he had to be carried up the stairs. For a man with such delicate health, the evening must have presented an enormous physical challenge. 

Mr. Koch appears to be a man of robust health, but his playing throughout the evening recalled for me the delicacy of how Chopin must have played. Mazurkastook the pride of place in last night’s concert – Mazurkain A-flat major, Op. 7, No. 4, 3 Mazurkasfrom Op. 7, and all three Mazurkasfrom Op. 59. Koch’s playing of the Mazurkas was, to my ears, idiomatic and completely convincing. The artist plays these “dances of the soul” with much rubato, probably more than we are used to today. In many ways, his playing of Chopin probably harkens back to the days of Cortot and Paderewski, in the freedom of expression, as well as the generous use of breaking the notes between the hands, something that is frowned upon by some today. In these Mazurkas, Koch also made us aware of the element of silence, and the idea of punctuating the music with it. He brought out the heartbreak in the Mazurka in A minor(Op. 59, No. 1), the Gallic elegance in the Mazurka in A-flat major(Op. 59, No. 2), and the robust energy of the Mazurka in F-sharp minor(Op. 59, No. 3).

The artist’s playing of the Impromptu No. 1 in A-flat major, Op. 29 gave the impression of one long breath from beginning to end. In the Op. 25 Etudes(Nos. 1, 2, 7 and 5), the legato playing was quite remarkable, with one note seemingly dissolved into, or fused with, the next. Under Koch’s hands, I heard, especially in these Etudes, completely new colours. In the E minor Etude(Op. 25, No. 5), the opening 16^thnote-8^thnote motifs sounded like splashes of colours. The gorgeous left hand melody at m. 45 was played with palpable warmth and a glowing beauty in the sound.

In the Nocturne in C-sharp minor, Op. 27, No. 1, Koch really gave the sense of the music floating and the melody gliding along with it. The dynamic at the passionate outburst at m. 49 (marked fff) sounded less forceful because of the limited dynamic, but no less passionate. In the two Op. 27 Nocturnes, the Nocturne in B major, Op. 62, No. 1, as well as the Berceuse, Op. 57, there was truly remarkable legatoand cantabileplaying throughout.

It was said that Chopin never gave two performances that were the same, and that he would always give the impression that he was improvising. In the 19^thcentury, pianists would sometimes interpolate notes into certain passages when they played Chopin. Koch observed this tradition (again, something almost no modern pianists would attempt, or would have the know-how to do so) in his playing of the Grand Valse Brillante in E-flat major, Op. 18 as well as in the Nocturne in D-flat major, Op. 27, No. 2, but doing so always very much within the bounds of good taste, and with a sense of appropriateness. 

In the Prelude in E major, Op. 28, No. 9, the dynamic range was a little narrower than what we are used to with performances on a modern instrument, but without sacrificing the sense of drama or grandeur. The Prelude in C-sharp minorthat follows was played with a breathtaking lightness.

Koch’s playing of the Prelude in C-sharp minor, Op. 45 really highlighted the inner beauty of this remarkable and very forward-looking miniature. In the Ballade in A-flat major, Op. 47, he brought out the intricate design, as well as many inner voices that are so often buried. I really liked his pacing in this long and tricky work, as well as the characters he brought to each section of the music. I was first surprised by the relatively subdued way he played the coda and ending. However, when I examined the score, I noticed for the first time that the composer only marked fortethroughout.

Throughout the evening, Koch’s playing was imaginative, idiomatic, soulful and always musical. The relatively soft sound of the Broadwood piano made me feel as if I was eavesdropping on someone’s playing for oneself. Through a combination of the much-darkened hall, the beautiful sound of the Broadwood, and Koch’s playing, the result was a truly magical evening. 

In the pre-concert talk, Koch spoke about his choice of playing with the printed music, indicating that it really had been the tradition until Liszt, who started playing “by heart”. In addition, Koch shared with the audience that he always learns something, even in the middle of a performance, when he has the score in front of him. Indeed, playing from the heart is always more important than playing by heart. 

While we would, regretfully, never know how Chopin really played, Koch’s magical performance made me feel that we had been transported back in time. Judging from the inspiring silence throughout the evening, I have a feeling that the audience felt the same as well.

Auspicious Debut

Yesterday afternoon pianist Lukáš Vondráček made a highly successful Vancouver recital debut under the auspices of The Vancouver Chopin Society. The fact that a sizable audience came out for the concert – even on Super Bowl Sunday - gives us the hope that the solo recital is very much alive and well.

The young artist began his formidable programme with Franz Schubert’s massive Sonata in B-flat major, D. 960. It has been a few years since every pianist seemed to be playing this sonata in recitals, and so I was eager to reacquaint myself with this old friend. 

The first thing I noticed with Vondráček’s playing is clarity of textures. His use of pedal was sparse, and he really allowed us to hear Schubert’s subtle harmonic changes in the left hand. The G-flat major theme was not played in the dreamy way as many pianists would. The crescendochords (mm. 34-35) that transitions back to the opening chorale theme was played with a sharper attack than I have heard, and the return of the chorale sounded almost heroic (Schubert’s marking was forte). I liked the balance between the left hand theme and the right hand harmonic changes in the F-sharp minor theme (m. 48). Vondráček chose to play the repeat of the exposition – I believe he wanted to maintain the balance and architecture of the movement - thereby allowing us to hear Schubert’s quite extended first ending to the section. The ffand ffz outbursts before the return of the exposition were very effectively done indeed. Schubert lavished the coda with an incredible number of dynamic indications, all of which were realized by the pianist. 

 

Vondráček’s playing of opening of the Andante sostenutomovement reminded me of a string quartet, with the violas and celli playing pizzicato notes while the 1^stand 2^ndviolins give us the main theme. Certainly he made this very clear for us with the clarity he lavished on the left hand staccatos. The A major section was played with a feeling of repose, and I liked the way he projected the theme with the sextuplet accompaniment. In the return of the C-sharp minor section, the pianist certainly painted a picture of bleakness that I feel was Schubert’s intention. 

The third movement was played with just the right degree of skittishness, and Schubert’s indication of delicatezzawas very evident in the playing, and Vondráček brought out the humour of the off-balanced, almost limping theme of the Trio.

 

I was interested in the way he played the left hand fpoctave G that opens the fourth movement. A true fpis almost impossible to achieve on the piano, since the sound could not be changed once it is made on the instrument. I think Vondráček tries to achieve this quasi-accent by deliberately playing it softer, thereby contrasting it with the theme that follows. The playing in this movement had the requisite brilliance the music calls for. In my mind, the coda and the almost triumphal nature of the ending should be played almost like a Pyrrhic victory – like the ending of Shostakovich’s 5^thsymphony. I do not think that was how Vondráček thought of this, because he certainly brought the sonata to a resoundingly brilliant conclusion. 

 

Throughout the performance, I found myself being fascinated by the pianist’s perspective even more than Schubert’s design. It was a fascinating look at this all-too-familiar work, bringing our attention to the amazing details within the score, rather than conveying the valedictory mood as most pianists would – a Toscanini rather than a Furtwängler approach to this music.

 

Our young artist began the second half with Schumann’s lovely Arabeske, Op. 18, and played it with a charm and disarming simplicity completely opposite to the Schubertian sound world of the first half.

 

The performance continued with the composer’s Carnaval, Op. 9. Once again, Vondráček’s conception of this work forced me to re-examine the details in Schumann’s score. 

 

Most pianists play the opening of the Préambulewith a full fortissimo, perhaps forgetting that there is a crescendoonly a few measures later. Vondráček seemed to underplay the opening I – IV progression, and then really took the crescendo that leads up to the end of m. 6. I also noticed that the composer indicated Quasi maestosofor this movement, quasibeing the operative word here. Again, in the Più moto(m. 25), he underplayed the brilliance and vividness of the music and then let it build – again a very Furtwängler-like approach, and one that Vondráček employed for many movements in the work. In Arlequin, the two-note rising motif is followed by a 16^th-note rest; Vondráček made use of this rest to give the music a sort of hesitation. 

 

In Valse noble(Un poco maestoso), Vondráček again allowed the music to build by underplaying the rising theme of the opening. The molto teneramentesection (Schumann indicated this twice within a few measures) was truly beautifully and indeed tenderly played. It was only at the return of the main theme that he really allowed the emotion to pour forth. He gave us a serious rather than dreamy Eusebius, and he really contrasted the impetuousness of the opening in Florestanwith the lyricism of the Papilliontheme (m. 19). Vondráček really observed the many LuftpauseinCoquette (and also in Réplique), indeed brining out the “coquettish” character of this movement. 

 

Vondráček conjured up a real storm in Papillons, thereby really contrasting it with the scherzandonature – played with amazing lightness – of the A.S.C.H.-S.C.H.A.(Lettres dansantes) movement. At the end of Chiarina, he held on to the final notes slightly, transitioning it without a pause to, and almost allowing the harmonies to “dissolve” into the first bass notes of Chopin(a devastating caricature of the composer). In Chopin, many pianists play the repeat with a contrasting dynamic, something not indicated by the composer. Vondráček played the repeat of the movement with the same dynamic level, but managed to lavish different details within the music. Reconnaissancewas played with amazing finger control, perfectly conveying Schumann’s sempre staccatoindication, something that can also be said about the Pantalon et Columbinemovement.

 

It came as no surprise that the Paganinimovement was played with a resounding virtuosity and note-perfect accuracy – normally playing all the notes is of secondary importance, but Vondráček’s incredible playing of this movement did remind me of Auden’s phrase, “Every high C accurately struck demolishes the theory that we are the irresponsible puppets of fate or chance.”

 

I liked how Vondráček brought out the hurrying-scurryingcharacter of Pause, effectively leading us, with a real sense of inevitability, into Marche des “Davidsbündler” contre les Philistins. Again, Vondráček did not “go all out” at the beginning of the movement, but allowed the music to build until its incredible conclusion. The pacing as well as the many shifts in mood within the music were done to perfection.

 

To those who are familiar with this music, Vondráček’s approach may seem very different at first hearing. I did, however, feel that his musical decisions were not arbitrary, being different for the sake of it. I believe that this young musician, still at the outset of his musical development, was really trying to offer us a re-examination of this very familiar music. It was only when I “hear” the concert again with the score that I found that he was really trying to play what the composer wrote. 

 

As an encore, Vondráček offered us a relative novelty – Josef Suk’s Piseň lásky(translated as “Song of Love” or “Love Song”), Op. 7, No. 1. It is a beautiful work, and was beautifully played. Vondráček obviously felt strongly about this music, and lavished it with a depth of feeling as well as a large palette of sound colours. 

 

All in all, a very auspicious debut by a major young artist; whether or not we agree with his interpretation, Vondráček is obviously a serious musician and musical thinker, and I believe that his artistic journey is one that we would do well to follow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seattle Opera's Il Trovatore - the primal emotions within all our hearts

It has often been said that it is easy to mount a production of Verdi’s Il Trovatore, all you need are four great singers. There is some truth in that rather facetious statement, because the vocal demands, as well as the range of emotions conveyed, are considerable. Verdi endowed each of the opera’s four acts with titles – “The Duel”, “The Gypsy Woman”, “The Gypsy Woman’s son”, and “The Punishment”. Indeed, these four acts (four movements?) of Il Trovatoreis almost like a gigantic string quartet, with the different voices of the main characters weaving in and out of the musical fabric. 

Seattle Opera’s production of Il Trovatorecertainly met the above criterion, for indeed all four of the principal singers were a match for each other in terms of vocal beauty and technique, as well as dramatic abilities. 

I was captivated by the effective set design – one basic set “dressed” differently for each act – but even more by the lighting, which I thought was magical throughout the afternoon. The tableau of opening scene, when Ferrando was narrating the tale of the killing of the old Count’s young son, reminded me so much of Rembrandt’s The Night Watch. The stage action of the soldiers, so full of vehemence, certainly set stage for the opera, and reminded us that this was really an age of violence – have we “evolved” since that time? 

The men and women of the Seattle Opera chorus did themselves proud in the many, justly famous, choruses, singing with strength and beauty, with dramatic conviction, and also a real sense of ensemble. In Act II, when Leonora was preparing to take her vows to enter the convent, the women of the chorus sang with a great sense of reverence.

The outstanding singing of even the “minor” roles of Ferrando (Adam Lau) and Inez (Nerys Jones) give an idea of the very high bar the company had set, and achieved, in this production. Lau’s lively and dramatic singing of the opening narration really brought the story alive.

Michael Mayes, singing the role of Count di Luna, initially had a veiled quality of his voice, but that soon disappeared, and he sang the rest of the opera with great dramatic intensity. His singing of “Il balen del suo sorriso” and “Per me ora fatale” was, respectively, passionate and full of violent emotions. According to opera writer, Father M. Owen Lee, the aria and cabaletta, “show him to be a sensitive but unduly sensual man, raised in chivalry yet – unlike his young brother, who was not given his advantages – utterly lacking in it. He knows his own weakness and admits it…” In this way, he is unlike the truly evil Scarpia who lusts after the beautiful Tosca. Mayes successfully portrayed di Luna as not a bad man, but one driven by his obsessive and possessive love.

It is truly amazing how beautifully Verdi writes for the Mezzo. Nora Sourouziant fits this role perfectly; in her voice and in her acting, she really embodies the many conflicting emotions driving this tortured woman. Her outstanding and dark-hued rendition of “Stride la vampa” was just one example of her considerable vocal and dramatic qualities in portraying this pivotal character, essentially the keeper of all of the story’s secrets, and maybe the only person who really understands the plot of the opera!

From the first notes we hear of Manrico’s, (“Deserto sulla terra” – he is alone on this earth) we knew that we were in the presence of a great singing actor. Martin Muehle’s voice is not a big one, but it is one endowed with a brightness, nuance, projection, and beauty. His rendition of “Di quella pira” was filled with a real sense of urgency and incredible tension. This outstanding artist was matched in every way by Angela Meade’s portrayal of Leonora. This is a truly bel cantovoice capable of an infinite degree of nuances. Her singing of “D’amor sull’ ali rosee” certainly elicited the greatest ovation from the audience last Sunday. 

Maestro Carlo Montanaro conducted with a real understanding of the Verdi idiom, a sense of atmosphere and forward motion, and supported the singers with sensitivity. If I could wish for one thing, it would be a greater sense of drive, intensity, even aggression in the orchestral playing – I believe these qualities are essential to a truly great performance of especially this opera. The playing on Sunday was, for me, almost too “nice”, thereby robbing the music of a certain degree of tension.

The stagecraft for this production is often very effective. When Azucena was telling the story of how she had mistakenly killed her own baby when her mother was being burned at the stake, the actions were enacted in the background in silhouette, against a flaming red background. The stage director employed this same piece of stagecraft at the end of the opera, when Manrico was being executed. In the final confrontation between Leonora, Azucena, and di Luna, the director had the characters in the background “frozen” in action, thereby really focusing our attention on the confrontation before us. 

As a whole, I personally find Il Trovatoreto be a more satisfying opera than, say, La Traviata. This is an opera where we find every facet of human emotions, and each of the four characters becomes archetypes embodying these emotions. In the words of Father Owen Lee, “Caught in their fixed attitudes, these characters are not, nor are they meant to be, true to life. They are emotionally charged symbols of life’s ironies.” Futhermore, the bitterness inherent in the entire opera is really a mirror of the composer’s own growing sense of pessimism and bitterness over the tragedies in his own life as well as the politics of the day.  

Perhaps this is why it is so satisfying to witness a production of this great opera, for could we not inevitably find in one or more of the characters some of the emotional turmoil within our own hearts?

Patrick May

Vancouver, British Columbia

A Memorable Evening with the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra

Under conductor Jun Märkl, the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra gave one of the finest concerts I have heard in the Orpheum for a long time.

The concert began with Brahms’ monumental Piano Concerto No. 2 in B-flat major, Op. 83, with the legendary Yefim Bronfman as soloist. I was surprised that an artist of Bronfman’s stature did not attract a full house last evening. The performance certainly deserved one.

Right from the French horn solo at the beginning, I sensed that we were in for a very special evening. Only a few pianists have the truly “big” (and I do not necessarily mean loud) sound needed for this concerto. Bronfman has it, in spades. At the forteentry by the piano at m. 11, it was very evident that the soloist captures the essence of Brahms’ idiom. At the same time, the sound Bronfman conjures from the Steinway, no matter how massive it got, was never forced, and was always beautiful. On the other hand, even when Bronfman was playing the most whispering pianissimos, he was somehow able to still project the sound over the orchestral texture. I thought to myself that this must have been what Arthur Rubinstein or even Eugen D’Albert (an earlier exponent of this particular work) sounded like when he played this concerto, because Bronfman’s sound has the same glow, and the same generosity of spirit in it. It is a sound that does not demand, but invites our attention. Mr. Bronfman had not played in Vancouver for many years, and it was certainly great to have him back. Perhaps a solo recital next time?

I was no less captivated by Jun Märkl’s conducting and the playing of the orchestra last evening. The distinguished young conductor captured the Brahmsian sound throughout the work. There was thickness, a real sense of substance, in the sound when the music called for it, but there was always a sense of forward motion, as well as a transparency of texture. 

It was also very obvious that Bronfman and Märkl were listening to each other, making the performance a sort of continuous chamber music. This is for me the highest form of music making. The collaboration between soloist, conductor, and orchestra was, from first note to last, flawless. Moreover, I had never before heard the VSO strings sound so beautiful as I did last evening. Throughout the evening, there was a bloom in the string sound, as well as a truly beautiful pianissimo. 

For me, last night’s performance of the Andantemovement was magical. At the PiùAdagio section (5 measures after C), where the piano plays with the clarinets, and the strings providing the harmonic landscape, there was a palpable feeling of intimacy and heightened emotions. So well did conductor and soloist paced the music that there was a sense of inevitability, as well as a feeling of catharsis, at the re-entry of the solo cello at letter D. The Allegretto graziosomovement was delivered with as much grace, humour and joie de vivreas called for by the music.

The concert continued with Franz Liszt’s symphonic poem Les Préludes, and here we were witnessed to this conductor’s sensitivity and musicality. I loved the way he shapes the phrases, something we do not often hear. This was obvious right from the outset of the score, with the arpeggiated passage played by the strings. Märkl knows the score inside out. Not only did he direct from memory, his pacing was so impeccable that there was a real sense of organic wholeness or unity in what could have been played as a series of beautiful but disjointed episodes. From the first pizzicato C’s to the triumphant conclusion, every section of the orchestra sounded absolutely glorious.

In Richard Strauss’ Don Juan, which concluded the concert, the opening 16^th-note run by the strings sounded positively confident, even defiant. Once again, I must reiterate that the VSO strings were a revelation last night. The swashbuckling opening theme was played with an incredible feeling of swagger worthy of Errol Flynn. In the beautiful theme for the violin at Letter E, there was palpable warmth in the sound, again so rarely heard at the Orpheum. Concertmaster Nicholas Wright did the orchestra proud with his alluring playing in the solos, and the famous French horn theme sounded absolutely secure. Märkl was in control of the ever-changing elements of the music, and directed a performance of this score that was sweeping, breathtaking, and utterly musical. There is a grace in his movement that translates into the music. In each work being played last night, every phrase and every detail in the score pulsated with life. This conductor brought the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra to a level of playing I had not heard for a very long time. 

A performance like the one on Thursday evening was truly a celebration of great music, and of the greatness of music.

We are now at the beginning of a new era for the orchestra, with Otto Tausk as Music Director. I think the orchestra would do very well by inviting Mr. Märkl to be Principal Guest Conductor. This way we would secure the services of what is obviously one of today’s most outstanding conductors.

Welcome back to Vancouver, Jun Märkl.