After a bit of a fallow stretch, suddenly there were lots of concerts. We began by hearing the Juilliard Jazz Big Band in a concert of the music of Oliver Nelson. Our friend Michael from Vancouver was there, with his stepmother Shelley. Nelson is most known for his 1961 album "Blues and the Abstract Truth" featuring people like Bill Evans and Eric Dolphy. He saw himself primarily as a composer (he studied with Elliot Carter), and with opportunities for an African-American composer being what they were in the mid-century, he spent most of his career doing arranging, film scores and the like. The Juilliard band played some of his compositions and arrangements; they were wonderful to hear. There is nothing like hearing a big band live to hear the subtle voicing and timbres of a big band. It was an enjoyable concert, and I was very impressed with with Nelson's music.
Two nights later, it was back to Juilliard, this tim to hear the orchestra in a concert featuring Schoenberg's Violin Concerto and Mahler's 4th symphony. The Schoenberg is virtually never performed by orchestras, and I give great credit to the people at Juilliard for performing it. (The Mahler 4th, on the other hand, was being performed by two other orchestras at Lincoln Center in the following few days.) The Schoenberg was amazing, brilliant and absolutely absorbing; I was totally immersed. Schoenberg's reputation as a difficult composer to listen to is not entirely undeserved; his music demands very close attention, but when you do that it is extremely expressive. While many people obsess about "twelve-tone music" being difficult, I think Schoenberg's rhythmic ideas are perhaps even more disconcerting for the average listener. Schoenberg doesn't do regular patterns or pulses; there are many recognizable little rhythmic motives, but they are constantly shifting, like a kaleidoscope, and changing and evolving very quickly.
The performance by the orchestra and the conductor, Edward Gardner, was excellent. But the highest praise had to be reserved for the Juilliard student Brian Wong who was the soloist. He really was extraordinary, playing with impeccable technique and intense commitment. It is a fearsomely difficult part, and he pulled it off. If there is any justice in the world, he should have an amazing career in the future.
The Mahler 4 was a pleasure to hear. (Though I could have gone home happy after the Schoenberg.) One of the delights of hearing the Juilliard Orchestra is hearing them in Alice Tully Hall, a much smaller hall than New York's normal symphonic halls. The sound is both clear and very rich and full, and all the wonderful details of Mahler's inventive permutations of his little themes were clearly heard.
The next day, I went to a rehearsal of the Vienna Philharmonic, mostly to hear Bartok's "Miraculous Mandarin". (The concert was sold out, except for a few tickets that required a mortgage to buy.) I was not disappointed, though in the rehearsal, the conductor, Franz Welser-Most, was mostly fixing up problematic spots. It's an interesting way to get some perspective on a piece, even though you don't get to hear the whole thing.
The next day, it was back to Carnegie Hall for an afternoon concert of Schoenberg's "Verklarte Nacht" and Schubert's 9th symphony. Vienna does Vienna. The Schoenberg is an early work, a hyper-romantic tone poem, originally written for string sextet, and here performed in Schoenberg's arrangement for string orchestra. It has some astonishing passages of intense expression and beauty, but to be honest, I don't really go for that kind of music. It has some interest as an early example of Schoenberg's musical thinking. The Schubert 9th is a an epic length symphony, which Schmann called the first romantic symphony. It's a kind of confounding piece which doesn't really fit in with any of our conceived notions about Schubert's music. It has wonderful tunes, but, on the other hand, it can be extremely repetitious rhythmically, to the point where it sounds like some proto-minimalist piece. The rhythms are extremely square, the beats overly insistent and regular. It is however, extremely enjoyable. The Vienna Philharmonic did a respectable job, but I didn't walk away from the concert thinking that they were a truly great orchestra. Or maybe it was the musical "bonbon" that they played as an encore. Perhaps they having been playing more Strauss waltzes than is good for their health.
Two days later, Vienna was gone, and it was back to Carnegie Hall for an all Russian concert by the Boston Symphony, conducted by Andris Nelsons. The concert began with a new work by Sofia Gubaidulina, a triple concerto for violin, cello, and bayan (A Russian kind of accordion). I have always liked Gubaidulina's music, and the new work was very interesting and exciting to hear. She uses quite simple melodic ideas, but they are combined and juxtaposed in ways that are fascinating. The concerto begins with a low sustained cluster on the bayan, which is soon joined by the tubas. In fact the tubas play a big role in the piece, and owing to the acoustics of the Carnegie Hall balcony it felt like a concerto for tuba, too. Gubaidulina shepherds her orchestral resources masterfully; I would happily hear the piece again soon, and hope to understand it better.
The same cannot be said for the other piece on the program, Shostakovich's 7th Symphony. Readers of this blog will know of my relative ignorance of Shostakovich's music. In this case, I really didn't like the piece at all; by the end of its endless eighty minutes, I had really had enough. The piece is known and culturally defined by its history, having been written to commemorate the siege of Leningrad in World War 2. The first movement features the famous "invasion theme", a march repeated twelve times over a very Bolero-like drum obstinato. A "problem" emerges, though, when it was recently discovered that Shostakovich wrote the first movement before the Germans had even invaded Russia. The problem here is what happens when a piece of music becomes very closely associated with the extra-musical circumstances surrounding its origins or purpose. Thus to criticize the musical qualities is considered to besides the point, given the story of its creation and performance. (Or, to put it bluntly, if you don't like it, you are against the heroism of the Russian people and implicitly for the Nazis.) For me, there are various stunning moments in the piece, but there are also long, long tedious and repetitious passages where virtually nothing happens musically. An editor would have been very useful! There is a very funny and nasty review written by Virgil Thomson at the time (and often quoted), where, among other things, he says it has been written for eight year olds. (There is also a very interesting article by Christopher Gibbs about the reception of the work in the US.) In any case, the performance was certainly excellent, and I know now what the symphony is about.
Two nights later, it was back to Carnegie Hall for a second Boston Symphony concert. (I don't think I need to ask anyone how to get to Carnegie Hall anymore; I practice going every other day.) Vera skipped this one, opting instead for a show with Sanda Weigl.
The point of going for me was to hear a new work by George Benjamin, one of my favorite living composers. It was wonderful. It is written for countertenor, a small female choir, and a relatively small orchestra. Benjamin uses 11th century Hebrew poetry from Andalusia, as well as some Garcia Lorca fragments. Benjamin has such an ear for subtle orchestral textures and gradually shifting harmonies. His music is both dramatic and very individual. I think he must work very hard.
The rest of the program was French, Ravel's "Tombeau de Couperin" and the "Symphonie Fantastique" by Berlioz. The Ravel reminded me of some contemporary French spectral music at times, with some busy and layered ostinati in different colors. I haven't heard the Symphonie Fantastique since I taught it in a music appreciation class many, many years ago. It was a knockout performance, and I came away with a renewed appreciation for the sheer imaginativeness of Berlioz's musical ideas. When you hear it live, you realize how audacious Berlioz was. Nothing is routine, and very little sounds like what came before him (or after him). On the other hand, it does sound like music written by a desperately romantic drug imbibing young man.
The Boston Symphony was excellent in all these performances, and, despite the Shostakovich 7th, I though the programming was well conceived. Andris Nelsons is at times annoying to watch, though; he has a habit of leaning with his left on on the podium bar behind him while conducting with his right hand. Unless there is some physical disability I don't know about, I don't see why he can't stand upright on his own two feet. He also does some rather exaggerated crouches, as well. So I don't look at him...
