This week's performance of Mahler's Symphony no. 6 underscored why the Boston Symphony Orchestra hired Andris Nelsons as their music director. The man knows how to conduct a large dramatic work.
I listened to several recordings of Mahler's "tragic" symphony in preparation for the concert. My favorite was an unflinching and harrowing performance by Gary Bertini and the Cologne Radio Symphony Orchestra. Nelsons took a different approach: driven and relentless right from the downbeat. It was an equally valid reading that left me drained and exhilarated.
The BSO will perform Mahler 6 again during their April concerts at Carnegie Hall. From what I saw, New Yorkers will get their money's worth.
Sunday, March 29, 2015
The organ concerto that wouldn't end
Andris Nelsons and the Boston Symphony gave the world premiere of Michael Gandolfi's Ascending Light for organ and orchestra in late March. The work was commissioned in memory of long-time BSO organist Berj Zamkochian. It is strange that piece purportedly commemorates the hundredth anniversary of the Armenian genocide, because the first movement was 15 minutes of tutti goose-stepping over a cyclical four-chord progression. It evoked unquestioning obedience more than a sense of loss for the unrealized potential of an obliterated generation. The bombast seemed better suited as a soundtrack to a parade of tanks.
The second movement quieted down and showed more breath and texture. This section would have appeal as a standalone piece. The coda reverted to more cyclical tuttis and marched all the way home. When soloist Olivier Latry finished the final chord in the Thursday performance the root E flat got stuck. The organist gave a shocked look of "I didn't do it" to the conductor, then flipped a few stops and switches to no avail. Latry gave up and joined Nelson on the podium, the stuck pipe continuing to blow for another 30 seconds during the applause until a backstage technician pulled the plug.
The second movement quieted down and showed more breath and texture. This section would have appeal as a standalone piece. The coda reverted to more cyclical tuttis and marched all the way home. When soloist Olivier Latry finished the final chord in the Thursday performance the root E flat got stuck. The organist gave a shocked look of "I didn't do it" to the conductor, then flipped a few stops and switches to no avail. Latry gave up and joined Nelson on the podium, the stuck pipe continuing to blow for another 30 seconds during the applause until a backstage technician pulled the plug.
Two pianist play Mozart concertos
German pianist Lars Vogt joined Andris Nelsons and the Boston Symphony Orchestra mid-January for Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 24. I was uncomfortable throughout the performance. Vogt seemed to be playing against the orchestra instead of with it. His display was athletic, always pushing the runs faster than the accompaniment. His entrances were a fraction ahead of the beat, almost scolding the other musicians for being laggards. He was unheeding even to the audience: Vogt started the slow middle movement while the audience was still shifting, settling and coughing after the first movement. I booed his solo bow.
Emmanuel Ax played Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 14 under the baton of Christoph von Dohnányi in mid-February. The modest, genteel man gave a modest, genteel reading of the work. He blurred a few runs in the cadenza, where I felt more distinct separation of the notes might have injected a bit of sly humor. Regardless, the performance put a smile on my face.
Emmanuel Ax played Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 14 under the baton of Christoph von Dohnányi in mid-February. The modest, genteel man gave a modest, genteel reading of the work. He blurred a few runs in the cadenza, where I felt more distinct separation of the notes might have injected a bit of sly humor. Regardless, the performance put a smile on my face.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Mozart the way I want to hear it
I am a fan of Christoph von Dohnányi. I would describe him as a gestalt conductor, meaning he sees the big picture of a work. Last season he conducted Mahler's second symphony just the way I wanted to hear it: clear-sighted, without any jarring eccentricities to break the momentum. Dohnányi has been back in town for two weeks as guest conductor with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. The program of his first week featured the music of Mozart and Richard Strauss.
What struck me in his reading of Mozart's Symphony no. 35 was that the conductor observed all of the written repeat signs. Many recordings made during the LP era omitted repeats in the closing section of each movement, perhaps due to the time constraints of an LP side, but also for fear of wearing out the listener's ear with too much of the same. The form of a Mozart menuetto movement in typical performance practice is AABB-CCDD-AB, but Dohnányi took the repeats in the Da Capo (from the top) for the longer AABB-CCDD-AABB.
The main reason to observe all of the repeats in a classical symphony is because the composer put them there, but there is a structural purpose. The A-section lays out the musical argument; a repeat of that section reinforces the themes and tonality of the work. In the B-section the composer expands the scope, often exploring remote harmonies. The results can be funky, disorienting or unsettling, but the composer safely guides us back to the home key. A subsequent repeat of the B-section shakes that false sense of security and raises our alert for the digressions ahead.
The second week of concerts was all Mozart – his last three symphonies: nos. 39 in E flat, 40 in G minor and 41 in C, "Jupiter". Maestro Dohnányi observed almost all of the repeats, omitting only those in the very longest sections. Perhaps my budget score from the library didn't reflect the latest scholarship; perhaps the conductor felt that Mozart had brought his ideas to a satisfactory conclusion; most likely it was to keep the concert under a time limit and avoid crippling overtime fees from the musicians' union. Even so, it was Mozart the way I want to hear it.
Case in point, the second movement of Symphony no. 41, Andante cantabile (a singing stroll). The tempo is a slow three beats to the bar, but each beat gets subdivided in various ways: sometimes two notes per beat, sometimes three or four or six or eight. Many conductors get so focused on the filigree of 24-to-the-bar that they lose the underlying propulsion. Dohnányi kept the quickest notes spinning so that there was always a coherent master pulse to the movement.
There are many delights in Mozart's last symphonies, regardless of who is conducting them. The second movement of Symphony no. 39 starts with a two-minute AABB section for the strings.
An uncomplicated little melody skips along in A flat major; a raised note in the seventh measure adds a sunny smile before the first repeat. The B-section starts climbing higher and higher, then hops around until it settles back down to the original melody. But then the second violin sneaks in a lowered note, darkening the mood to A flat minor. The cloud soon passes and all seems well, but now there is a slight question mark of uncertainty. It is a simple and magical touch, and I would feel deprived if the section were not repeated. Matters get more turbulent when the winds start blowing in the extended C-section.
Symphony no. 40 opens with one of Mozart's most recognizable melodies. Here is a graphic animation of the score. The form is AAB – watch for the repeat at 2:00. Enjoy!
What struck me in his reading of Mozart's Symphony no. 35 was that the conductor observed all of the written repeat signs. Many recordings made during the LP era omitted repeats in the closing section of each movement, perhaps due to the time constraints of an LP side, but also for fear of wearing out the listener's ear with too much of the same. The form of a Mozart menuetto movement in typical performance practice is AABB-CCDD-AB, but Dohnányi took the repeats in the Da Capo (from the top) for the longer AABB-CCDD-AABB.
The main reason to observe all of the repeats in a classical symphony is because the composer put them there, but there is a structural purpose. The A-section lays out the musical argument; a repeat of that section reinforces the themes and tonality of the work. In the B-section the composer expands the scope, often exploring remote harmonies. The results can be funky, disorienting or unsettling, but the composer safely guides us back to the home key. A subsequent repeat of the B-section shakes that false sense of security and raises our alert for the digressions ahead.
The second week of concerts was all Mozart – his last three symphonies: nos. 39 in E flat, 40 in G minor and 41 in C, "Jupiter". Maestro Dohnányi observed almost all of the repeats, omitting only those in the very longest sections. Perhaps my budget score from the library didn't reflect the latest scholarship; perhaps the conductor felt that Mozart had brought his ideas to a satisfactory conclusion; most likely it was to keep the concert under a time limit and avoid crippling overtime fees from the musicians' union. Even so, it was Mozart the way I want to hear it.
Case in point, the second movement of Symphony no. 41, Andante cantabile (a singing stroll). The tempo is a slow three beats to the bar, but each beat gets subdivided in various ways: sometimes two notes per beat, sometimes three or four or six or eight. Many conductors get so focused on the filigree of 24-to-the-bar that they lose the underlying propulsion. Dohnányi kept the quickest notes spinning so that there was always a coherent master pulse to the movement.
There are many delights in Mozart's last symphonies, regardless of who is conducting them. The second movement of Symphony no. 39 starts with a two-minute AABB section for the strings.
An uncomplicated little melody skips along in A flat major; a raised note in the seventh measure adds a sunny smile before the first repeat. The B-section starts climbing higher and higher, then hops around until it settles back down to the original melody. But then the second violin sneaks in a lowered note, darkening the mood to A flat minor. The cloud soon passes and all seems well, but now there is a slight question mark of uncertainty. It is a simple and magical touch, and I would feel deprived if the section were not repeated. Matters get more turbulent when the winds start blowing in the extended C-section.
Symphony no. 40 opens with one of Mozart's most recognizable melodies. Here is a graphic animation of the score. The form is AAB – watch for the repeat at 2:00. Enjoy!
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Boston affirms its status as a provincial opera town
The story of Kátya Kabanová is a metaphor for the state of opera in Boston: Passion stifles in an oppressive backwater until its undignified death.
The singers in the current Boson Lyric Opera production were competent but not compelling. We knew the mother-in-law was a baddie not by anything the soprano did, but because the surtitles told us so. The third tenor was engagingly present, which only highlighted how absent the first two tenors were.
Others have commented on Shubert Theatre's funky acoustics, and this performance underscored the flaws. The tympani pocked like pickle buckets, sleigh bells squawked like tree beetles, and the strings sounded strained, as in passed through a colander with the juice extracted.
The production was borrowed from Opera North (U.K.), but it looked more like somebody trying their hardest to recreate the original sets. If this is the best Boston can do, I don't see opera surviving here much longer.
The singers in the current Boson Lyric Opera production were competent but not compelling. We knew the mother-in-law was a baddie not by anything the soprano did, but because the surtitles told us so. The third tenor was engagingly present, which only highlighted how absent the first two tenors were.
Others have commented on Shubert Theatre's funky acoustics, and this performance underscored the flaws. The tympani pocked like pickle buckets, sleigh bells squawked like tree beetles, and the strings sounded strained, as in passed through a colander with the juice extracted.
The production was borrowed from Opera North (U.K.), but it looked more like somebody trying their hardest to recreate the original sets. If this is the best Boston can do, I don't see opera surviving here much longer.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Wine tasting: Islands of the Mediterranean
Boston accumulated over 100 inches (250 cm) of snowfall this winter, so the Newton office took steps to encourage a reluctant spring. We held a sampling of wines from the islands of the Mediterranean to summon warm breezes and give winter a nudge out the door. Recent tastings have not been successful: The Year in Review brought forth some wines that couldn't withstand repeated scrutiny; then there was the Disappointments from Down Under. We struck gold this time, as there were many pleasant surprises and no outright dogs on the table.
The first two offerings were white wines from Greece. While Attica, home of Athens, is technically a peninsula, it is certainly surrounded by the wine-dark sea. The Kourtaki Retsina was a new experience for most of the tasters. We struggled to identify what we were sensing: rubber? sage? the vinyl of a Twister mat? It turns out that Retsina takes it name from the pine resin that is used to seal the wine casks. A second visit revealed a distinct aroma of Pine-Sol cleaner, but the flavor exceeded everyone's expectations. A trending Thanksgiving side dish has been oyster stuffing; if you are planning a gourmet turkey dinner, this Retsina can stand up to bolder flavors.
The other Greek wine was from the isle of Crete. Silenus Beta relies mostly on the local Vilana grape to make a lightly herbal, easy self-drinker. We found it similar to Sauvignon Blanc, with a whiff of nail polish remover/perm solution. This style of wine is meant to go with a variety of small plates, so keep it in mind for tapas or house parties. We had a wine novice visiting from the office in Pune, India, and this was his favorite.
Our next stop was Sardegna (Sardinia), a large island off the shinbone of Italy. For a white wine we tried La Cala, made from the native Vermentino grape. Several tasters experienced this sequence: fruit, mineral, metallic, bitter. On my second pour I tasted a blend of lemon and capers, which suggested a pairing with chicken or white fish.
Sardinian wines are characteristically fragrant. I have spent several half hours with my nose in a glass of Carignano red, smiling at the floral bouquet. The downside is that the taste can be too flowery, competing with food dishes. For this tasting we tried a Cannonau by Sella & Mosca, similarly aromatic, but not too overpowering. I could imagine serving this with herb-rubbed pork tenderloin.
We hopped to coastal Italy for the next offering, Tomaiolo from Tuscany. Some tasters found this Chianti Classico Riserva bold, borderline rude. "Just like my husband," said Annie, who brought the bottle, "which probably explains why he likes it so much." A dissenting voice called this a softer style Chianti. The Sangiovese grape produced a deep rose color, and my immediate response was that this would be a good dinner wine to serve with a steak.
From there we traveled to Sicily, another large island just off the toe of Italy. Cusumano from Avola blends the Nero (black) grape to produce a dark plummy color, almost inky. There was a hint of ball-point pen on the tongue as well. Perhaps serve this wine with marinated octopus. The tannins overwhelmed me, but others found the structure balanced; rich but not oaky. In some deep layer I noticed very dark cherry.
The Barcelona office sent us a bottle of ses Nines Negre from the island of Mallorca (Majorca). This blend of Manto Negro, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, Callet and Merlot got a mixed response. Some liked the aroma better than the taste, finding it light but bitter. Others appreciated the peppery finish. Maybe this wine needs to test its mettle with a fiery vindaloo.
We left the Mediterranean behind, far behind, as we tried the final bottle, Château d'Lena from local garagistes Gavone Brothers. This Côtes du Rhône-style blend takes its name from Gavone matriarch Pasqualina. She nurtured this vintage while chief grape crusher Umberto was toiling at an offshore vineyard (ah, there is an island in this after all). The Brothers take pride in their new slogan, Il nostro vino non è più schifoso (Our wine doesn't suck anymore). Over time, reactions to the Gavone line have progressed from "like being mugged in a dark alley" to "beyond drinkable" and "surpassing mediocrity".
The Lena blend is virtually opaque in the glass, with a slight corona of dark magenta around the edges. Close your eyes as you inhale the vanilla airplane glue. The taste has intriguing notes of overripe raspberries and licorice, making this wine paradoxically suited to both red and black Twizzlers. Spare the main course; uncork this palate cleanser with the blueberry pie.
The other Greek wine was from the isle of Crete. Silenus Beta relies mostly on the local Vilana grape to make a lightly herbal, easy self-drinker. We found it similar to Sauvignon Blanc, with a whiff of nail polish remover/perm solution. This style of wine is meant to go with a variety of small plates, so keep it in mind for tapas or house parties. We had a wine novice visiting from the office in Pune, India, and this was his favorite.
Sardinian wines are characteristically fragrant. I have spent several half hours with my nose in a glass of Carignano red, smiling at the floral bouquet. The downside is that the taste can be too flowery, competing with food dishes. For this tasting we tried a Cannonau by Sella & Mosca, similarly aromatic, but not too overpowering. I could imagine serving this with herb-rubbed pork tenderloin.
We hopped to coastal Italy for the next offering, Tomaiolo from Tuscany. Some tasters found this Chianti Classico Riserva bold, borderline rude. "Just like my husband," said Annie, who brought the bottle, "which probably explains why he likes it so much." A dissenting voice called this a softer style Chianti. The Sangiovese grape produced a deep rose color, and my immediate response was that this would be a good dinner wine to serve with a steak.
The Barcelona office sent us a bottle of ses Nines Negre from the island of Mallorca (Majorca). This blend of Manto Negro, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, Callet and Merlot got a mixed response. Some liked the aroma better than the taste, finding it light but bitter. Others appreciated the peppery finish. Maybe this wine needs to test its mettle with a fiery vindaloo.
We left the Mediterranean behind, far behind, as we tried the final bottle, Château d'Lena from local garagistes Gavone Brothers. This Côtes du Rhône-style blend takes its name from Gavone matriarch Pasqualina. She nurtured this vintage while chief grape crusher Umberto was toiling at an offshore vineyard (ah, there is an island in this after all). The Brothers take pride in their new slogan, Il nostro vino non è più schifoso (Our wine doesn't suck anymore). Over time, reactions to the Gavone line have progressed from "like being mugged in a dark alley" to "beyond drinkable" and "surpassing mediocrity".
The Lena blend is virtually opaque in the glass, with a slight corona of dark magenta around the edges. Close your eyes as you inhale the vanilla airplane glue. The taste has intriguing notes of overripe raspberries and licorice, making this wine paradoxically suited to both red and black Twizzlers. Spare the main course; uncork this palate cleanser with the blueberry pie.
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